Can't Let Go
by SylvieT
Summary: Companion piece to Better This Way, a post-ep I wrote for Immortality. I'm rewriting, but not changing, the ending to the finale, which left me rather dissatisfied. Sara's POV in all this. How could she just leave it all?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story is a companion piece to _Better This Way_ , a post-ep I wrote for _Immortality_ where I delve a little into Grissom's reasons for walking away from Sara. As you may know, even though we got our happy-ever-after, the ending to the finale left me…dissatisfied, so I thought I'd rewrite it and get into Sara's thoughts a little more. She's at the pinnacle of her career; how could she just give it all up like that? I'm not changing anything we saw in the episode, just putting my spin on it.

The dialogue at the start is taken straight from the episode itself, and isn't mine. It's just a reminder, and a lead into the story. There's also a bit of dialogue with Lindsey, which is also taken from the episode and isn't mine. You'll recognise it.

This story is going to be a short one, which I hope you'll enjoy. It's still all very hazy in my head, so as usual ideas and suggestions and comments are welcome and a great source of inspiration and encouragement.

Thank you.

* * *

Can't Let Go.

* * *

GRISSOM claps Sara getting the directorship.

SARA beams, laughs: Thank you. I never thought I'd see this day coming. But, with DB out…

GRISSOM: You deserve it. Vegas is lucky to have you.

SARA: The oceans are lucky to have you.

GRISSOM smiles stiffly, nods.

SARA: Ironic, isn't it? I'm the one that always wanted to get out of Vegas and you're the one who thought you would never leave.

GRISSOM: Yeah. Well. So…

SARA: I hope you find what you're looking for out there. Bye Gil.

* * *

Sara was pleased with her performance. Despite the turmoil inside, her goodbye had been controlled and to the point. He'd been left with no illusions that she still harboured feelings for him. She'd told him earlier in the case that she'd put her professional mask on, and she kept it on till the very end. She felt proud of herself, of the way she'd conducted herself. She acted like she'd moved on from him and their love, their life together, even though she hadn't.

There had been no tears, no emotional blackmail, or recriminations. Sure, she was torn-up inside, but he didn't see it. She didn't want him to feel guilty for choosing a life he loved away from her, nor did she want him to settle for a life with her if it wasn't what he truly wanted. Clearly he loved being at sea more than he loved being with her. He was happy with his life, he looked and certainly sounded it, and she was happy with hers. Well, most of the time.

He came back for the case, not for her, and she was fine with that. His inability to hold a meaningful conversation with her was still as frustrating as ever, but she was fine with that too. For years, she'd filled in the blanks for him and got it wrong. She wouldn't be doing it again. If he couldn't find the words, then so be it. She was no mind reader, especially not his. He said she left him speechless, but that wasn't true. That was a cop-out. He just knew she wouldn't like hearing what he had to say and so he didn't say it. He kept quiet. Reverted to form, the closest he got to opening up to her through some lonely whale metaphor.

 _If the whale was this lonely_ , she couldn't help thinking, _then it should adapt; purposefully seek its mate rather than aimlessly roam the oceans, emitting a call that would never be heard._

She didn't hate him for leaving again. If asked, he'd say he had her best interests at heart, that her life was in Vegas now, and he'd be right. She'd made a good life for herself there. She was just resigned, that was all. Resigned to the way he was, to the status quo. And if she was honest, she'd admit to being disappointed and more than a little angry. Angry at him, but angry at herself for her inability to change and adapt and be the person he needed her to be. It was too late for that. Why should she expect things to be any different now than when they were still married and living under the same roof?

They'd tried, both of them had, but life had a way of pulling them apart.

It had been so good at the start, his turning up so unexpectedly in Costa Rica one of the best days of her life. When he'd been offered the teaching position at the Sorbonne for a year after they'd gotten married, she'd been all up for it. The grant money they'd applied for hadn't come through, wouldn't for the foreseeable future, and the prospect to spend a year in Paris had been very attractive indeed, romantic even, for both. But soon she'd grown bored, unfulfilled and unhappy. There were only so many sights, so many museums, to fill your days. She was no housewife; she simply didn't know how to be one. Hadn't known how to be a good wife to him either.

Work had always been her anchor, her lifeline, and she'd been lost without it, been left to drift aimlessly, while Grissom was busy, happy, unaware, spending long days at the university while she struggled to make a home for them. When the opportunity had arisen, she'd jumped at the chance and come back to Vegas. At first and for a long time, they'd made the marriage work, but then his schedule, her schedule, were hard to synchronise, not to mention the six-hour time difference and expense. Skype calls were missed, conversation curtailed, trips over postponed, until they became less frequent, and then non-existent.

Oh, who was she kidding? Of course, she wasn't fine. The truth was that even after she'd taken the initiative and said goodbye to him, she was still hoping, still wishing he would speak up, say something, find the words to convey what he felt, tell her he was unhappy and missing her. That he was ready to come home. She hated herself for thinking that, for wishing that, for putting her happiness before his, but there it was, the sad truth. It was hard, painful, to stand there and be with him when she couldn't _be_ with him. He was going back to sea, and maybe it was better that way.

And as she sat at her desk now – her new desk, his old desk – she still hoped her goodbye to him wasn't the end. With a sigh, she checked her watch, put her pen down and tiredly rubbed at her eyes. Her first shift as director was coming to an end, and that without any glitches. The transition had been smooth, her team seemingly happy to have her as boss rather than just colleague. The whole thing had been quite mundane really, almost an anti-climax, but she kind of liked it better that way.

She could do this job; she would be good at it. She deserved the promotion, had worked damn hard for it. Emotionally she was stronger than she'd ever been for years. She would put all her effort into her work and keep this lab at the top, just like Grissom and then DB had done before her. Grissom had taught her a lot about the science, but DB had taught her more about people. Thinking back, she couldn't have had two more different mentors, and yet they'd complemented each other perfectly and made her a better, more-rounded CSI.

She picked up her pen again, signed off on a few more documents, then stopped and cast an eye out around the familiar office. It was a still a little bare, but orderly and uncluttered, the way she liked it. She'd removed the few items DB had left behind, but still saw in her mind's eye all of Grissom's stuff laid out on the shelves and hanging from the walls. So much had happened in sixteen years in this office, tears and laughter, arguments and introspections, and now it was hers. She was the boss now, she called the shots. Yes, she was proud of what she'd achieved. And yet she found it hard to rejoice.

"Hey, Sara," Lindsey said, walking in. "Front desk has asked me to deliver this." She held out a padded envelope, and Sara took it, frowning at the name written on it. "It's the videotape of Lady Heather's final interview before Grissom released her."

"Oh, great." She faked a smile, thanked the young CSI, then set the envelope down on the desk and opened a folder, returning to work. As far as she was concerned, the case was closed, and she never need cross paths with Heather Kessler again. There, another contentious issue in itself. She found the woman and her insights infuriating, felt jealous of hers and Grissom's…intellectual connection, or whatever one chose to call it, of the fact that Heather seemed to know him better than she did.

Lindsey made to leave, but then thought better of it. "I―I watched the whole interrogation."

Sara looked up, nodded.

"Huh, I learned a lot. Especially the end. You should watch it." She paused and smiled hesitantly before turning on her heels and leaving the office.

Sara's eyes lowered to the envelope. Frowning, she picked it up, stared at the name on it and turned it over. Should she, she wondered? Should she watch it? Would she learn a lot too? But what could be of interest on it that she didn't already know? No, she'd drop it off to the evidence locker on her way out. A knock on her open door had her look up with a start and discreetly put the envelope face down on the desk. Hodges stood at the threshold, a hesitant smile on his face.

"Is this a good time?" he asked.

"Sure," she said, and remaining seated put her professional smile on, "What can I do for you?"

He shrugged, stepped inside the lab. He was holding something behind his back. "I was just coming to check up on you. Well, not _check_ _up_ on you per se, just check up. You know, see how your first shift at the helm had gone. So how do you enjoy being boss?"

"It was fine, David. Thank you for asking."

Hodges smiled stiffly, nodded his head, then cast his gaze down tentatively. Sara frowned.

"I've brought you something," he said at last, looking back up. "Call it an office warming gift. I mean…" He stopped in his tracks and blew out a breath. "Just tell me if you think it's a bad idea―"

Sara's puzzlement intensified. "David, what is it?"

Hodges let out another breath, cast a look around the office. "I know the office is yours now, and that you probably don't want any reminders of…past supervisors, but…well, she's always belonged here and I thought I should return her." He paused, then produced from behind his back what he'd been holding.

Sara's mouth opened then shut as she stared at the glass jar, before looking up, speechless and aghast.

"It's Miss Piggy," he said, needlessly, and set the glass jar down on the desk next to the padded envelope. "I always considered myself its guardian, you know, after Grissom left? But now I think you should have her."

"I thought it got destroyed," Sara awed.

"It almost did, when DB arrived." Hodges shrugged. "I salvaged it." He smiled then, awkwardly. "Take care of it, will you?"

Touched by Hodges' thoughtfulness, Sara looked up sharply. "I will." Her gaze lowered again to the jar, and she saw Hodges hesitate before he finally turned to leave. "Thanks, David," she called.

He stopped at the door, and when he turned around he had a soft, wistful smile on his lips. "Don't mention it. You are a worthy successor, Sara, and I look forward to having you as my boss."

Hodges' sycophantic nature brought about Sara's first genuine smile since she'd been given the directorship. She gave him a nod, then looked down at the jar again and smiling stroked her hand to the glass. She had enjoyed working alongside Grissom again, more than she cared to admit, and if she was completely honest with herself she'd even go as far as saying that she'd missed it. That she'd missed _him_.Her love for him was still as strong as it ever was, always would be, but sometimes love is simply not enough.

His ship was sailing away again in two days, and she wouldn't be on it.

And it was better this way.


	2. Chapter 2

"We're meeting at the usual place in half-an-hour."

Sara saved the draft for the request-for-more-staff memo she'd been typing to Ecklie, then looked up at Greg standing at the door and rubbed her face. Ecklie had promised her one more permanent staff, but before an appointment was made the night shift couldn't carry on with just her and three CSIs, especially as Lindsey was still learning and needing supervision.

Finn's death had left a gap that hadn't been filled, and now with DB gone, it left them incredibly short, putting everyone under tremendous pressure. She was hoping day or swing shifts could spare a pair of hands and bridge the gap for the foreseeable future, or she'd have to cancel all leave and time off, which wouldn't be a popular first mandate as boss.

Frowning, Greg stepped into the office and closed the door. "You okay?" he asked, his voice soft and caring.

Sara snapped herself out of her thoughts, plastered a smile on her face. "Sure. I'm fine. Just a little tired, you know? Every time I think I'm getting on top of things something else comes up, requiring my _urgent_ attention."

Greg smiled. "Joys of being the boss, huh?"

"I guess," she said in a sigh.

"You're not…regretting your decision to apply for the job, are you? 'Cause let me tell you it was a relief for me to know that…well, you'd be my boss."

Sara's weary face lit up with a smile. "Never look back, right?" she said, echoing Catherine's old motto.

Greg acknowledged the reference with a nod and smile. "Right. If there's…anything I can do to help, you let me know, alright? It's no trouble."

"Thanks, Greg," Sara said, giving her colleague a warm smile. "But short of cloning yourself, I don't know how else you could help. You're my senior guy now – my only guy – can you believe it?"

Greg gave a hearty laugh. "Sounds like _you_ can't."

She shrugged. "Seeing Grissom here – and Catherine – brought a lot of stuff back."

"Oh, the good old days…" he said wryly. "You'll be fine, Sara. Better than that, you'll be great. And everyone at the lab is behind you." His gaze narrowing suddenly, he looked past her to the work counter directly behind. "Talking of behind you. Miss Piggy's back!" he exclaimed, glancing at Sara as he walked round the desk.

Smiling at his enthusiasm, Sara turned around. "Hodges brought her back. Said she belonged here."

Truth be told, even though the thought behind it had been genuine and kind, Hodges' gift had made her feel uneasy. She didn't know if it was because it was Grissom's and a constant reminder that once upon a time this chair, this office, used to be his, or because it had given her the feeling that unlike the foetal pig, she didn't quite belonged there.

Glancing over his shoulder, Greg picked up the jar she'd placed behind her desk so she didn't have to stare at it all the time, and studied it. "He's right. She does." He put the jar back and then turned around fully before leaning against the counter. "So, back to the reason I dropped by. You still coming, right?"

Sara averted her gaze, sighed. "I thought I might go straight home actually, run myself a bath."

"Sara—It's only breakfast with the guys."

"There'll be others."

With a put-upon sigh, Greg folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not supposed to say anything, but well, the girls – and _me_ – wanted to…celebrate your promotion."

"Greg—"

"We promise to keep it low-key," he insisted. "Just the team, you know, what's left of it anyway, for a good old family breakfast." He lifted his shoulder in a sulky shrug. "And you got to eat, right?"

Sara opened her mouth, but all that came out was a long sigh, and when knowing she'd relented Greg flashed her a cheeky grin she had no choice but smile and nod her head grudgingly. It wasn't like she had anywhere – or anyone – to rush to, did she? The thought of once again going home to an empty house and a cold bed when Grissom was in town suddenly made her feel very sad. Very sad indeed.

Her smile wavering uneasily, she turned back to her memo. "I just got to send this," she said, tapping at her laptop keys, and then with a wave at the padded envelope on the desk, "take this to evidence lockup and I'm done."

Pushing off the counter, Greg reached for the envelope, and Sara remembered what it was too late. Greg turned the package over in his hand, his brow rising when he read Heather Kessler's name on it.

"It's a copy of the statement she gave PD," Sara said.

"You've…watched it?"

Sara shook her head. "Don't intend to either." She smiled. "Not if I want to make breakfast on time."

"Good for you," Greg said, and paused. She could tell mentioning Heather had made him think of Grissom, but he didn't say anything, and she was grateful. "I'll take it to evidence for you," he said after a beat, and moved toward the door. "And _don't_ leave us waiting!"

He bounded out of the room before she could object to either of his statements, and once again she wondered at his endless energy. Sagging into her chair, she let out a long, tired breath. She reckoned another week – two maybe, a month tops – of pretence and covering up her feelings. Then Grissom's reappearance into her life would just be another memory and not hurt so much, and she would throw herself into her work and go on, just like she had done for the last two years since the divorce. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

When some forty minutes later she arrived at the diner, the car lot was full and Sara had to pull back out into the road and park the Prius curbside. She grabbed her purse, waited for traffic to pass before she got out and beeping the car locked trotted over to the diner. She was reaching the plate glass entrance doors when she stopped in her tracks.

"Promise to keep it low-key," she muttered under her breath, doing a worthy impersonation of Greg, "My ass."

It seemed the whole nightshift had turned up, CSIs, lab techs and clerical staff rubbing shoulders in various booths, even David Phillips was there, and it took all her resolve for her not to turn back. Greg caught sight of her wavering and grinning spoke to the people he was sitting with and waved her in. She pushed the door open to a round of applause, and her heart sank. Catherine, Brass and Ecklie, sitting at the counter with their backs to her, turned around on their stools and joined in.

Sara removed her sunglasses and stood uncomfortably, a stiff smile plastered on her face as she wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Could be worse, she mused, Grissom could be there. Her heart skipping a beat, she cast a quick look over the faces smiling at her, but Grissom wasn't one of them. She felt relief at first then crushing disappointment that he wasn't there, which was stupid really and totally irrational.

Catching up to her, Greg steered her toward the trio at the counter. "Sorry," he said in her ear, as everyone returned to their breakfast. "It just happened. And I swear I didn't orchestrate the clapping. That just—"

"Happened too?"

He winced. "Sorry."

Forcing a warmer smile, Sara put on a brave face and patted Greg on the arm. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"What are you having? It's on me."

Sara ordered her usual, then turned to Brass, Catherine and Ecklie. "We couldn't _not_ be here," Catherine said, knowing exactly how Sara was feeling, and stood up to embrace her.

Brass stood up too and took his time hugging her. "Mind my ribs," he said, when she hugged him back affectionately, and then when she pulled back, "I don't seem to be healing as fast as I used to." There was a look of sadness hiding behind the friendly smile that she had trouble interpreting and tugged at her heartstrings.

Sara gave him a warm smile, then took her place next to him on the stool Greg had dragged closer for her. After apologising again, he returned to his table with Lindsey and Morgan. The waitress placed a cup of coffee and some cutlery in front of her, and Sara thanked her with a smile. Brass stood up, then excused himself to go to the bathroom and Sara watched him go.

"Is Jim alright?" she asked Catherine.

Catherine shrugged. "I think the explosion shook him more than he'd care to admit. He said he'd not been sleeping properly, which is to be expected, I guess."

"He's probably getting flashbacks," Ecklie said.

Sara nodded her head, then averted her eyes toward where Brass had disappeared to and picked up her cup of coffee.

"Sara, I've got our extra pair of hands," Ecklie said, as she took a first cautious sip.

Sara frowned, but then the penny dropped and carefully setting her cup down she turned toward him. "Already! That's great. Who?"

A wide smile on his lips, Ecklie glanced at Catherine, who opened her arms in a 'if you'll have me' kind of way.

"But how?" Sara asked, her gaze flicking between the two questioningly, unsure as yet whether to rejoice or not.

"Well, as you know, I asked for a transfer to the FBI's Vegas office. They turned it down, so I gave in my papers. Vegas is my home, and it's time I came back. And so when Conrad mentioned…" She let her words trail off, "I mean, only if you'll have me back."

Sara registered a moment's pause before her face lit up with a smile. "Of course we'll have you back."

"You don't sound so sure."

Sara shrugged. The roles would be reversed now; how would Catherine take to receiving orders from her, she wondered? Would they be clashing every time they disagreed on a case? And after the FBI, wasn't working at the lab again a comedown too far for Catherine? "Came as a surprise, that's all," she said, forcing a little enthusiasm in her voice.

"It'll be a pay cut," Ecklie cut in.

Catherine laughed. "Conrad, money's not an issue. And I know what you're thinking. But, Sara, my priorities have changed. Besides, it'll be good to spend some time with Lindsey, and mom. And I got the girls too, Little Maria and Helena."

Sara frowned, then glanced at Ecklie. "Yeah, about that. You working with Lindsey might cause a problem."

"We spoke about that," Ecklie said, "and—"

"And Lindsey said she was fine with it as long as I don't boss her around or do her evaluations. Which in all honesty, I am more than happy to leave to you." Catherine paused and smiled. "So?" she asked, her tone hopeful and expectant.

Sara glanced at Ecklie, then smiled at Catherine. "Welcome back," she told her warmly. "But more to the point can you start straightaway?"

Catherine grinned. "Maybe not straightaway, but the FBI owe me some leave, so I'll see what I can do."

The waitress placed Sara's breakfast in front of her, and she turned toward it. Brass returned, and they caught him up on the new developments. His brow rose wryly, his eyes fixed on Sara, as Catherine spoke animatedly. The mood remained light and cheerful throughout, the conversation revolving about work and kids, Grissom's name surprisingly never passing anyone's lips. Sara was half-way through her breakfast when people started to leave, patting warm congratulations on her back on their way out.

When she finished her plate, Sara wiped her mouth on her paper napkin, then stood up and excused herself to go to the bathroom. Happy for a moment's peace, she took care of business, washed her hands and then splashed a little water on her face, checked her tired and pasty reflection in the mirror. The window on the side wall was open a crack, and a smile forming she wondered if she might just fit through it.

"Don't even think about it," a laughing voice said.

Smiling, Sara turned to face Catherine. "You know me too well."

Her smile stiffening, Catherine let the bathroom door close behind her. "You okay?"

"Sure."

Catherine fixed her with a concerned stare. "Sara, it's me, Catherine. You don't need to keep up the pretence."

Sara shrugged, sighed. "Everything's moving at warp speed. I'm kind of feeling a little overwhelmed by it all, I guess."

"That's only to be expected." Catherine paused, checked the stalls were empty. "But work's not the issue, is it?"

Sara averted her gaze, but not nearly soon enough.

"He's an idiot, Sara," Catherine said in a sigh, and Sara didn't need elaborating to know who they were talking about. "And I told him as much. Leaving again, when it's clear he's still got feelings for you. Feelings you return. You watched that video yet?"

A frown creasing her brow, Sara looked up sharply. "What video?"

"Heather Kessler's statement."

"No," Sara replied with puzzlement, "I haven't." A feeling of suspicion crept up on her and she narrowed her eyes. Her voice hardened. "Why?"

Catherine looked away, shrugged.

"Catherine?"

Catherine sighed. "I'm not supposed to know anything, alright? But Lindsey came to me for advice." She paused, met Sara's puzzled gaze dead on. "She was in the viewing room at PD, picking up pointers, when Heather made her statement. Grissom was there too, and—"

Sara raised a hand, stopping Catherine short. "Listen, Catherine, Grissom's business with Heather is his business. I don't want to know."

Catherine's face softened. "Well, that's the thing, Sara. It's all about _you_. Not her."

"Well, then, he should have told _me_ , not her."

"You're right, he should have. But it's Grissom we're dealing with here."

The door to the Ladies' room opened, and Catherine stopped in her tracks. One of the lab tech came in, smiling at both women, and they returned the smile a little stiffly. Sara turned to the sink and proceeded to wash her hands again while Catherine went into a stall.

Sara left the diner soon afterwards. She knew Catherine meant well, but she wished she'd stop meddling. Grissom was his own man; he knew what he was doing. Heather was his friend and if he'd confided in her, then so be it. If he wanted Sara to know what he'd said, then he should tell her, not let her find out from a third party. Where were they, back in fifth grade? She certainly wasn't going to go out of her way to find out. What purpose would it serve, except to keep a bleeding wound from healing?

She pulled the Prius up in the driveway, cut the engine, but stayed behind the wheel for a few minutes before she made her way to the front door. She rummaged in her purse for her key and was about to slot it into the lock when she noticed a piece of paper slotted between the door and the frame. Frowning, she slipped her sunglasses to the top of her head and pulled it out, an instinctive smile forming on recognising the familiar handwriting. Her heartbeat quickened of its own accord, and she willed it to calm down.

 _Behind the bougainvillea,_ the note said, ever to the point.

She paused, hesitating, then checked behind the shrub as instructed, her smile returning as she saw the potted plant waiting for her in the shade of the bougainvillea. Carrying the plant, she walked over to the road and checked left and right, but everything was quiet, as normal. With a sigh, she walked back to the house and let herself in.

It probably didn't mean anything, and besides it would take a lot more than a plant.

Or the few words scribbled inside the card attached to it.


	3. Chapter 3

Sara set the plant down on the hallway table, dumped her keys in the bowl and her purse on the floor. He'd taken the trouble of bringing it round rather than having it delivered; was it because he'd hoped she'd be home? But why? What could he have to say now that he couldn't have before? Receiving the plant had got her heart beat a little faster and her mind working overtime, but she was bound to be disappointed, right? She paused and sighed and looked at the plant again, at the small envelope sticking out of its foliage, a sad smile forming as she thought of a possible message inside it.

A simple, _Congratulations!_ maybe?

An impersonal, _From Grissom_?

 _From Gil, with love?_

Her smile widened.

A humble, _Sorry, I'm an ass_ , would do her fine.

Whatever the note said, she knew it wouldn't be enough and was almost scared to open it, lest it quashed whatever small hope she still harboured that all wasn't over between them. The red light on her answerphone blinked with a message, and her heartbeat quickening in anticipation she pressed play. Much to her regret, her mother's quiet voice filled the silence in the house, offering words of congratulations and pride on hearing the good news, but why must she have heard it from a third party? Good question, Sara thought with a wry smile, and made a mental note to go visit her mother soon.

Her eyes lingering on the plant, Sara removed her jacket, swapped her work shoes for her house ones and headed to the kitchen. There, she poured herself a glass of water and drank it whole before refilling it and taking it to the bedroom. As she walked through the lounge, she glanced at the hallway table, pausing briefly as once again she stared at the plant, before making herself continue on. She was a coward, and she was scared, scared of letting him get close and of getting hurt all over again. It wouldn't take much for that to happen, not much at all.

Sipping at her drink she put a little music on and wearily got undressed before slipping on her robe and hanging up her work suit. Normally she found comfort in her routine. It kept her mind from wandering, from wishing and hoping, from thinking too much of what was missing from her life. It kept her moving forward rather than back. But today, that didn't happen. Today, her senses were on alert, and all that because of a plant and a note she was yet to read. Maybe she should go for a run, drain the last ounce of energy from her body, as she knew, from past experience, that sleep would be hard to come by.

In the bathroom, she ran a hot bath, tied her hair back and waited on the edge of the tub for it to fill. Idly, she turned her head toward the bedroom, paused and sighed, then as if pulled by an invisible force retraced her steps through the house to the hallway, to the plant, and picked up the envelope. Pinching her lips, she reached inside the table drawer for the letter opener – his letter opener, the G etched on the handle faded with age. A gift from Betty, she remembered Grissom telling her once, given long before they'd even met. It still did the job beautifully and today was no exception.

Her hands shaking, she pulled out the card and started walking back to the bedroom. _Congratulations!_ was indeed inscribed on the front in big, bright gold lettering. She smiled despite herself; she'd been right about that at least. When she opened the small card, the breath momentarily caught in her throat and she dropped down at the edge of her bed. There was no _From Grissom,_ or, _From Gil, with love,_ but a very long message in small writing that used every bit of space available.

So, he did have something to say after all, she thought, her eyes brimming with tears. He still had so much power over her, still held the key to so much of her wellbeing and happiness, it was frightening. One gesture, one small gesture from him was all it took to put all her resentment and bitterness to bed, albeit momentarily, and let gush all the love she felt for him and took so much care all of the time to keep contained and concealed.

 _Yes,_ he'd written, causing her to laugh through her tears, _a plant._ _A little cliché, I know, even for me but well, that's the best I could come up with in the circumstance._

She was about to read on when startling she remembered that the tub was still filling. Wiping at her eyes, she rushed over and turned off the taps, taking care not to get the card wet. She was walking back to the bedroom to read the rest of his words when the doorbell rang, making her jump. Frowning, she turned toward the sound and froze. Whoever it was, she instinctively knew it wasn't Grissom. He wouldn't come, not when he'd only just left the plant. He'd made his move; now it was her turn to make one. Or not, as the case was.

There was banging at the door now, followed by Brass's voice quietly urging her to open up, and she knew she couldn't ignore it. With a sigh, Sara wiped her hands to her face, slipped the note in her robe pocket, and tightening the belt around her went to answer the door.

"I know you're in," she heard him say, "Your car's in the drive."

Smiling, she unbolted the door and let Brass in.

"See?" he said without preamble, a wide smile on his face as he stepped past her, "My deductive powers are still intact."

"Come on in, Jim, why don't you," she said, deadpan, closing the door after him.

Brass turned around, taking in her appearance. "It's okay. I'm not staying. I can see you're…busy."

She smiled. "What can I do for you?"

"I found this." Brass felt inside his jacket pocket and fished out a pendant and necklace.

Frowning, Sara took a step closer and then brought her hand to her neck. It was her necklace, one she'd had years and which had been purchased on one of the stalls along the River Seine in Paris. It hadn't cost much at all, but was of great sentimental value. She'd been wearing it that morning, had chosen it especially to wear on her first day as lab director; she hadn't even realised she'd lost it.

"Where did you find it?" she asked in a whisper, taking the item of jewellery form him, and noticing the broken clasp went to sit down on the couch.

Following, Brass sat down on an armchair across from her. "On the floor, in the diner," he replied when she looked up, and smiled. "I'm sure it can be fixed."

Nodding, Sara returned his smile with a shaky one of her own. "Thank you. It's one of my favourites."

Brass's smile widened. "Don't mention it."

He paused, stared straight at her, and uncomfortable under his scrutiny she averted her eyes back to the pendant in her hand. There was a moment of awkwardness between them. Brass sat back in his chair before moving forward again, and Sara carefully lowered the necklace onto the coffee table in front of her.

"Catherine mentioned you haven't been sleeping very well," she said, bringing her eyes back to Brass as she wrapped her robe tighter over her bare legs and then slipped her hand in the side pocket, needing to check that Grissom's note was still there.

Brass pointed to his ear. "Damn ringing, you know? The doc says to give it a few more weeks, that he can't see any sign of permanent damage." He flashed a quick smile. "I'll be fine. I'm a tough old boy."

His turn of phrase made Sara smile.

"So," he went on after a beat, his voice soft as he held her gaze levelly, "this promotion, you sure that's what you want?"

"Well, don't beat around the bush on my account, will you?"

"What would be the point?" he said, his gaze piercing straight through her.

Sara's mouth opened, then shut, but she knew there was no point pretending and she didn't bother. "Who else was going to do it?" she said, needing the fill the silence that was building between them. "Until a permanent appointment was made I'd have been doing the job anyway, might as well get paid for it and get the title."

Brass's only reply was an earnest nod of the head.

"I know I can do the job," she insisted, "and I'll be good at it."

Laughing uneasily, Brass raised his hands in mock-surrender. "Hey, I know you will. It's just…well, you're a great criminalist, Sara, out in the field or at the lab, and I'd hate to see you unhappy. I never pegged you for the stuck-behind-a-desk type."

"DB managed both, and Grissom before him. You did too."

"Yeah, well, believe me when I say that it came at a price, for _all_ of us. Besides, the job's changed, hasn't it?" He let out a long breath. "Just…be careful not to fall in the trap and let the job take over your life."

Sara gave him a wry smile. "I think it's too late for that."

Brass stared at her at length, then nodded his head and reached forward to pat his hand to her knee. "You take care of yourself, you hear me? And remember, it's never too late."

Sara's brow creased with a frown as she wondered what exactly he meant by his words, but Brass pushed up to his feet without elaborating. "I'd better get going, let you get ready for bed." And then as he moved to the door, "You got shift tonight?"

"Yep," she replied, standing too, "Tonight and every night until Catherine starts. And even then, we'll still be one short." She paused, sighed. "You ever miss it? The job, I mean."

Brass shrugged. "I miss being a real cop," he said, smiling. "But I don't miss any of the rest, no." His smile broadened, lighting his world-weary face. "Ellie called me yesterday, asked me how I was. Said she saw the explosion on the news. I'm going up to see her next week." His smile faded, and he swallowed. "Leaving the department and putting her first is the best thing I ever did. Even if it came a little late in the day."

Brass moved to embrace Sara and then went on his way, leaving her perplexed and a little melancholy. She watched through the window as he got into his car and slowly reversed out of her driveway onto the road, then pulled the note out of her pocket and headed to the bathroom. The bath water had gone tepid, and Sara emptied some out, replacing it with hot water.

 _Yes,_ she read for the second time, her smile immediately returning, _a plant._ _A little cliché, I know, even for me but well, that's the best I could come up with in the circumstance._

 _I said you left me speechless,_ she read on, _and I meant it. I don't think I conveyed how happy and proud I am for what you've achieved. You were always the better CSI, Sara, because you care for the why, not just the how, and I know you'll make a better boss too. Trust in your ability, your judgement and beliefs, and you'll be fine. That's what I should have said to you earlier in the hallway when I congratulated you, and I'm sorry I didn't._

 _But better late than never, right? You taught me that._

 _Damn, I'm running out of space. I should have asked for a bigger card, but I didn't want to write it in front of the woman and besides I needed time to compose my thoughts. With hindsight we'd do everything differently. I know I sure would._

 _Take care of yourself, Gil._

Sara wiped the tears from her eyes and let out a long breath, then read the note all over again. It said so much, yet so little. But she was glad he'd found some words to express how he felt, even if those words weren't exactly the ones she'd have liked to have read. She placed the note in her pocket, took off the robe and after dipping a toe into the tub went in fully, sinking in as deeply as she could as she allowed the hot water to soothe her tired body.

After her bath, Sara closed the blinds and got ready for bed. Before she slipped in between the cold sheets, she went to get her cell from her purse, took it back with her to the bedroom and checked that the alarm was on. She got into bed and was about to turn off the light when instead she reached for her phone on the bedside table, scrolled to Grissom's name and tapped on the text message icon. Then she paused, unsure how best to proceed.

 _I found the plant,_ she began to type, _Thank y…_

She stopped, sighed, then deleted the message and shut off the phone before switching it back on.

 _Thank you for the plant. It's…_

Again Sara tapped the backspace key, keeping the _Thank you_ only, and then pressed send before she could change her mind. He'd given her a gift, thanking him was the polite thing to do. It didn't have to mean more or lead anywhere. Besides, knowing Grissom she didn't expect a reply. He might already be on his way back to San Diego for all she knew. She placed her cell back on the bedside table, slipped under the covers and turned off the light.

She was making a mental list of what she'd need to do before work when her cell chimed with a text message. Dispensing with the light, she reached over for the device, turned it on and squinting at the bright light tapped on the message icon.

 _You're welcome,_ she read, a smile of pleasure instinctively forming on her face. She was about to put the cell away when it chimed again and _Sleep well_ appeared on the screen.

Her smile widened as a rush of contentment suddenly flooded her. Her tiredness abated. Should she reply, she wondered? Leave it at that? She hesitated briefly, then sat up a little and typed _I will,_ before immediately pressing send. She found herself waiting with bated breath for his reply, which was almost instantaneous.

 _I'm in Home Depot,_ it said, and a few seconds later, _With Mom._

Sara smiled again.

And then, _Meet for dinner before shift?_

Sara's smile faded. She pinched her lips, swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. That text was so reminiscent of so many others they'd sent each other over the years.

Before, way back when.

Her heart was beating so very fast. Her fingers hovered uncertainly over the phone keyboard, poised to type a reply, and yet she hesitated.

It would be so easy to say yes, but then what?

Would sharing a meal together only serve to remind her of what she was missing and couldn't have anymore? Was this merely an attempt at repairing their fraught relationship, at rebuilding their shaky friendship? There were friends first, that was true, but had been so much more since. But how could they go back to just being friends again? Would that simply be too painful to bear?

"What's the point?" she asked herself out loud, and with a sigh put her cell away.


	4. Chapter 4

For a long time, Sara tossed and turned in bed, her mind racing. Snippets from his note played around in her head, and she found herself analysing every single word for hidden meaning **.** The gift of the plant, she could explain, its congratulatory message obvious, but the tone of his note had been so sad and regretful, as sad and regretful as the look in his eyes as he'd stood in the lab hallway congratulating her. Could all this talk of _better late than never_ and _doing things differently with hindsight_ be his way of reaching out to her?

What if he wasn't as happy with his life as his few cryptic words spoken during the case had led her – led all of them – to believe? Living on a boat, on the ocean, was pretty solitary, as her short journey aboard the Sea Shepherd had taught her. You could be at sea for days, weeks, without seeing civilisation. And she knew from experience too that cell coverage was indeed very poor, even if she was loath to admit that to him. What if he was ready to call it a day and come home? How would she feel then?

 _Don't get your hopes up_ , she told herself again. _His life is away while yours is here. Remember that when he had the opportunity to come back to Vegas, he chose to take another assignment abroad and stay away. And even if he returns, you are divorced now._

She heaved another sigh and hit a fist to her pillow, plumping it up, before restlessly turning over onto her other side. And what should she make of his dinner invitation, she wondered then? Was that as casual as it seemed? He'd asked her out to dinner, no big deal. Dinner didn't have to mean _date_ , she knew that. He probably only wanted to talk, catch up on old times – two friends sharing a meal and a little time together. He still cared for her, of course he did, even if it wasn't love any more or at least not the kind of love he'd once felt for her.

After yet another anxious turn, she sat up in bed. She had known sleep wouldn't come, and she'd been right. With a sigh, she switched the light back on and reached inside the bedside table for her book. Her phone lay there, teasingly close, but she refrained from picking it up. She raised her pillow against the headboard and opened the book at the marked page, fixed her eyes onto the text, but saw none of the writing. Her gaze lifted from the page, once again drifting over to her phone, and she sighed.

 _What's the point?_ echoed in her mind again, when he'd only be leaving again.

 _Aren't you even a little curious_ , a little voice asked inside her head? _Don't you want to find out what he's been up to in the last two years? Whether he's moved on when you've been unable to? Whether he is as happy as he sounds?_

Or maybe seeing him again and talking face to face with him would help her finally get some closure, help her begin to understand what went wrong between them, start facing up to the fact that maybe she should shoulder some of the blame for the divorce, that it wasn't just because of the long-distance, or him.

She knew she could have tried harder, should have tried harder to save her marriage. Sure, he was the one who'd first said the words, suggested they took a break and parted ways, got a divorce. It had hurt like hell and had sent her on a quick path of self-destruction that had only come to a head with the Basderic fiasco. She'd come close to losing her job then, her freedom and sanity, on top of everything else that was going wrong in her life. And yet with the help of work and the support of her friends she'd come through stronger.

Was he to blame for what happened then, as she had believed then? Was he to blame for something he still had no knowledge of? She had needed someone to blame, had been so…angry. But with hindsight she'd realised that she'd made her own choices, as he had, and if they were the wrong ones then she had no one to blame but herself. At that particular point in time she'd been so full of hatred and resentment that signing the divorce paper when they'd come through the post had been a damn sight easier than facing up to her inadequacies as a woman and a wife.

She closed the book, tossed it on the bed, then got up and pulled on her robe. Grabbing her phone, she padded her way to the lounge. Sunlight flooded the room, and she toggled the blinds, shutting some of the light out. She put her cell on the coffee table next to her broken necklace, reached for the remote and tucking her legs under her on the couch turned the television on. Her gaze flicked over to the lobby and the plant, then to her pendant and with a sigh she slipped her hand in her pocket, pulled out his note and read it again.

With hindsight, wouldn't everyone do everything differently?

No, not everything, she thought then. She didn't regret coming to Vegas when he'd called her, asking for help, all those years ago. She didn't regret staying on either. Nor did she regret all the wasted years, waiting, hoping, wishing, until he finally found the courage to face up to his feelings for her and allow her into his life, into his heart. How could these feelings have changed, she wondered again? How could he have given up on them like that?

Tears built, prickling the back of her eyes. There were a lot of things she did regret though. She regretted leaving when she had, as she had, when she'd left the first time, when she couldn't take any more of the job, of her life. She'd told him she'd self-destruct if she stayed and she still believed she would have. She regretted not including him more in the process so that he could have understood better and maybe been better equipped to helping her. And maybe if she had, she wouldn't have needed to leave in the first place.

She reached for the pendant and fingered it, wondered if Grissom had recognised it when he'd seen her wearing it, if he remembered. That was, if he even noticed. She'd told Brass earlier that it was one of her favourites, and it was. She and Grissom had only been in Paris a month when one Sunday afternoon they'd gone strolling along the river with Hank eagerly pulling on his leash. Grissom liked to browse the Bouquinistes stands, looking at old books and photographs, postcards even, while Sara would lean against the stone low wall behind the stands, cast her eye out and watch the Seine flow by.

She smiled as the recollections flooded her, could almost feel the sunlight warming her face. It was in the early days of their Parisian adventure when everything was still new and exciting, before she'd grown restless. That particular day, she'd wandered off to a nearby jewellery stall and was admiring the gold teardrop pendant when Grissom caught up with her. He draped his arm over her shoulder and turning her face toward him she smiled. Hank whined at her feet, and laughing Grissom bent down to ruffle his coat.

He'd slipped in hand in hers, taking Hank's leash from her, and they'd wandered on, hand in hand, taking in their new surroundings, marvelling at every new thing before eventually stopping for ice cream. The ice cream van was an old-fashioned Citroën H model that had Grissom entranced on account of its pig nose shaped front and corrugated bodywork. They waited in line, bought matching cones and then happily walked on home. Unbeknown to her, once they'd returned to their Quartier Latin apartment, Grissom had gone out again to buy her the necklace and pendant, simply placing the tissue-paper wrapped gift in front of her at dinnertime.

Did she regret her decision to leave Paris, to leave him, to return to Vegas? Part of her did, because she knew that ultimately it had contributed to the breakup of her marriage, but the other part didn't. Which said a lot, really, all things considered. She looked down at the note on her lap and sighed, then reached for her cell. She should have replied to him straightaway, not left him hanging. He'd taken a chance, made a bold move by his standards, and she should have been more considerate of his feelings.

She retrieved his earlier text, read back over their brief conversation, a smile forming at the mention of _Home Depot_ and _Betty_ , and pressed reply. She was composing a message of apology in her head, when her cell chimed with an incoming text, startling her.

 _You sleeping?_

Her lips curved up in an amused smile; he knew her too well. Of course, she could pretend she was and not reply, but he would know it was a lie. How could she sleep when he'd taken over her thoughts entirely? Smiling broadly, she quickly typed, _No_.

 _I'm sorry I put you on the spot,_ came his reply a minute later, _but I'd really like for us to have dinner before I leave._

She sighed; it all sounded so final.

 _For old times' sake?_

This text elicited a wide smile and a shake of the head. He was being insistent, she'd grant him that.

 _Please?_

Her smile became a grin, and she pinched her bottom lip in anticipation. How could she say 'No' to him when he was being so sweet?

 _Dinner would be nice,_ she typed, and before she could change her mind sent.

His reply of a smiley face made her laugh out loud _._

She waited for more, for details of a time and place, but no more text messages came. The television was still playing in the background, and after changing the setting on her cell to sound and vibrate Sara stretched out on the couch with the cell in her hand on her chest. If there was to be another text she'd know instantly. She felt lighter, happier, for accepting his invitation. What did it matter if it was a one off? Even if he only wanted to talk about the case, or his mother, or even the ocean, she knew she'd love hearing about it. She was ten minutes into the programme when she stopped fighting her drowsiness and fell into an undisturbed sleep.

When she finally woke, it was nearing five pm. She straightened up on the couch, wiped her face and rolled her shoulders to ease the soreness. The television was still on, and reaching for the remote she switched it off. While she'd been sleeping her cell had slipped out of her hand and fallen to the floor, and she picked it up. A text message was waiting for her. Work, was her first thought, but no. Her heartbeat lifted as she read the message which had been sent nearly four hours previously.

 _Table's booked._ _6.30 at Veggie House. I'll be waiting._

Veggie House used to be a favourite of hers, but she hadn't been there in years. Her smile faded. In fact, she hadn't been there since the last time he'd been in town. Still, she mused, it was thoughtful of him.

Not wanting to send the wrong message, she took care choosing her outfit. In the end, she settled for clothes she'd be comfortable in – black tailored pants, a favourite cream blouse she'd had years and her fitted khaki jacket – put on a pendant with no history. She thought about straightening her hair, but then opted not to and combed it in its usual style. She applied the barest trace of makeup to her face, a little mascara and lipstick. Her eyes lingered on her bottle of Jimmy Choo perfume hesitantly. Generally, she didn't wear any for work, but today she squirted the smallest of amounts onto the crook of her neck.

She left the house and got to the restaurant with plenty of time to spare, parked the car curbside a little distance away but within sight of the restaurant's entrance. She definitely didn't want to be seen to be there first. Time ticked away with no signs of him arriving though, and her heart sank. She desperately tried to remember what car Betty drove, searched for it in the restaurant's parking lot but came up blank. Of course, it had been a while since the two women had seen each other and Betty could have gotten a new car. Or he could have taken a cab. Still, she waited until 6.30 on the dot to pull into the lot.

She'd barely got out of the car when she saw him through the restaurant plate glass window. He must have been there, waiting all the while. Somehow the knowledge filled her with confidence that their meal would go well. He was seated at a table a little to the back and was staring straight ahead, looking earnest and slightly apprehensive. It was only then that Sara realised that he was probably as nervous as she was, meeting again like this without the safety of the job or a crowd.

Her smile trembled, as she remained rooted to the spot and watching him for a beat longer. This was it, she thought, her last chance to turn back. Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath and willed her nerves – or was it excitement? – to settle. When she reopened her eyes, he was looking at her. Their eyes met, and she had to work hard at keeping the sudden surge of love and emotion at bay. She raised her hand and smiling softly gave him a small wave. Relief registered on his face before it lit up with a smile and he pushed to his feet, making to stand.

Sara locked the Prius, then blowing out a breath decisively walked up to the entrance door, let herself into the restaurant and indicated his table to the waitress that greeted her. She plastered a smile on her face. She would be strong, and present a happy and serene exterior. She was in a good place in her life. She didn't want him to glimpse at the turmoil and confusion he was causing.

No more turning back.


	5. Chapter 5

Grissom took a couple of steps to meet her, then paused before leaning over and awkwardly brushing his lips to her cheek. The kiss, however chaste and platonic, nearly stopped her heart. The gentle whiff of his aftershave brought about so many memories that for a moment she felt disoriented. She thought about returning his kiss with a slight hug, but decided against it.

He pulled back, and smiling softly reached behind her to pull back her chair. He was being the perfect gentleman, and she was barely able to hide her growing nervousness and disarray. Her heart was beating so fast, she wondered if he could hear it. Lowering her purse from her shoulder, Sara thanked him with a tremulous smile and sat down. Oh, how she hoped she hadn't made a mistake in coming.

"I worried you'd changed your mind," Grissom said, smiling warily as he took his seat across from her.

Sara tidied her purse by her feet, then for something to do set about straightening her cutlery. "I'd have done the right thing and let you know," she said, glancing up.

His smile stiffened, and she regretted the undercurrent of cold reproach in her response. With a nod he averted his eyes to the table before rubbing his hands along his upper legs a few times. He was nervous too, which was of some comfort to her. While his eyes scanned the room around them, she took a moment to study him. He looked good, tanned by his life at sea, despite the extra weight and lines etched on his face, and she found herself having to fight the urge to reach out and touch him.

"I've been here ages actually," he confided in an uneasy chuckle, bringing his gaze back to her, "and people were beginning to stare. So, huh, thank you for being on time."

Sara's gaze narrowed, and briefly she wondered if she should take his words at face value or if he was being clever and had known all along that she'd been outside waiting. "You're welcome," she replied, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt. And then with a playful smile, "But what if I told you that, all the while, I was parked outside making you wait?"

A wide smile spread across Grissom's face, lighting up his eyes. "I'd say it was a little cruel maybe, but deserved."

Sara's smile was dancing as they held each other's gaze for a few seconds. She was racking her brain for something else to say when the waitress appeared, pad in hand. She and Grissom exchanged imperceptible looks, and immediately on her guards Sara wondered at what it meant. "Can I get you guys drinks?" the waitress then asked, eyes flitting between the two.

"I'll have a small glass of red wine, please," Sara said, surprising even herself.

Grissom's brow rose, but he chose not to comment.

"Merlot okay?" the waitress asked.

"Sure. That's fine."

"Make that two, please," Grissom said.

The waitress wrote down their order, then nodded toward the two menus on the table. "I'll take your food order when I come back with the drinks, okay?"

"Thank you," Grissom and Sara replied at the same time.

Their eyes met again, and they shared a shy smile. The moment stretched, becoming awkward and uncomfortable, and averting her eyes Sara picked up her menu. Grissom's quiet scrutiny as she pretended to peruse it made her feel edgy all over again. Did he think her changed at all in the years since they'd last seen each other? Maybe a little wine was what she needed after all, some Dutch courage to get her through the meal.

"Thank you again for the plant," she said, looking up over the top of her menu.

Grissom gave his head a shake, refocusing, and she wondered how far away his thoughts had taken him. "Oh, it was nothing. I mean…it wasn't much." He shrugged, tried a smile. "I'm glad you liked it."

Sara gave him a nod, then turned her attention back to the listings on the menu.

"So, huh," he said, reaching for his own menu, "how was your first shift as director?"

"It was…okay," she replied, and shrugged. "A bit of an anti-climax actually."

He chuckled. "Don't hope for too much, too soon. That'll come, believe me. Take time to find your feet."

Sara held his gaze steadily, and his smile faded. "I will."

Grissom started at her a beat longer before nodding his head and glancing at his menu. "I hope you don't mind me picking this place. You used to like the food here, so I thought…" His words drifted off uncertainly.

 _Cone on, Sara,_ she told herself, _relax. He is trying. The least you can do is try too._ "No, it's great," she replied. "You're right; the food here is great. And look," she said, pointing half-way down her menu, "they still do my favourite." She put the menu down, gave him a smile. "Which is what I'm going to have."

This time, he was the first to break eye contact. Lowering his gaze, he reached into his breast pocket for his glasses, and giving him a moment to make his selection Sara cast a look around the restaurant, which hadn't changed at all. The food was indeed excellent and cheap, and more importantly, especially when they'd first begun dating, it was way off the beaten track deep in Chinatown. She remembered sharing many a happy meal with him there, but try as she might she couldn't remember the last one.

The waitress returned, placing their glasses of wine in front of them, and Sara almost pounced on hers before taking a rather large gulp. Grissom peered at her over the top of his glasses, and Sara hated the brief look of sadness that flashed across his eyes. Her wine got stuck in her throat, and embarrassed she swallowed hard, almost choking on it.

"So, what will it be?" the waitress asked brightly.

Grissom looked over to Sara questioningly, but she was still incapacitated. "We'll have the Wonton soup followed by vegan walnut scallops," he told the waitress, his eyes on Sara all the while.

Was he waiting for her to tell him he'd made the wrong choice? However much she'd like to, he was spot on. He'd ordered exactly what she would have, which would have been sweet if it wasn't so damn infuriating. The waitress waited a moment longer before leaving them to it, and after removing his glasses Grissom picked up his wine, raising it at Sara in a silent toast, a gesture Sara hesitantly returned before slowly bringing the glass to her lips and this time taking the smallest of sips. Grissom unhurriedly followed suit.

"How's Heather?" she asked when silence once again built between them.

Grissom registered a look of surprise. Lowering his glass, he wiped the back of a finger to his mouth. "She's doing okay."

Hating the way she'd reacted during Heather's interview, Sara didn't show any bitterness or jealousy as she spoke. Her sympathy for the woman's loss was genuine, and she felt she should voice it. "I was sorry to hear about her granddaughter. It must be an awful time for her."

Again, Grissom showed surprise at Sara's words. "It is. Alison is— _was_ all Heather had left, apart from her work. It's tragic really, what happened―what keeps happening to her." He shrugged. "I only heard after the fact myself. She called, left a message on my cell but I was at sea. I only got it when we docked."

Talking about Heather always made Sara uncomfortable, and now was no exception. Grissom never hid his friendship with Heather from her. He always was open about it, candid and honest — a little too much so at times. But she couldn't help feeling painfully inadequate and lacking when compared to the intense and beautiful ex-dominatrix, however unfounded those feelings might be, always finding herself coming up short. She'd been ill prepared with dealing with these feelings when they'd once again come face to face the previous day.

"And you called her back," she stated simply.

The smile that grew on his face was sad. "I did." He paused, sighed and met her gaze dead on. "I'm sorry if…it wasn't always the case with you."

Uncomfortable at the turn the conversation was taking, Sara averted her gaze to her wine and picked up the glass with a shaky hand.

"You can blame the sketchy cell reception most of the time," he went on quietly. "But other times…it's just easier to stay out of touch. Less complicated. And don't think it's not the case with everyone. I hadn't spoken to Heather in more than a year." Sara looked up sharply, and he chuckled. "It's true. My mother likes to remind me she moved to Vegas to be near me…" he opened his hands, left the rest of his sentence unsaid. Sara knew all about Betty's gripes with Grissom's absences; for a long time the two women had had that in common. "I heard from Nick, though. He called when he heard I'd gotten myself arrested."

Sara laughed. "I heard about that."

"Hey," he defended mildly, raising both hands in front of him. "All charges were dropped."

She tilted her head to the side, fixed him with a questioning stare, and with a shrug he went on to tell her about the poachers he'd been tailing. What awkward silences there were at first gradually filled until the conversation flowed more freely, as genuinely interested Sara asked more and more questions about his work and Ocean Peace. He was doing something he truly loved and was enthusiastic about, still somehow putting the world to rights and keeping true to who he was, and despite their differences it was heart-warming to hear.

And yet, for all his passion, she couldn't help glimpsing at a lonely soul. Life on a boat didn't lend itself to much meaningful human interaction, she knew that. Did he miss her at all, she wondered? Did he lay in his cot for one at night and think of her? Sara swallowed, hid her sudden emotion behind a bright smile. When he had no more anecdotes to tell, Grissom lowered his eyes, picked up his wine and took a large sip. Silence once again stretched between then, and Sara couldn't think of anything to say to fill it.

Grissom's gaze suddenly flicked over to a point beyond her shoulder, and she turned just in time to see the waitress returning with their appetisers. The latter set two steaming bowls of Wonton soup down in front of them, bid them a good meal and promptly went on her way. Sara picked up her spoon and without wasting time began to eat. She was leaning forward and blowing on her spoonful when out of the corner of her eye she saw Grissom smile, before he followed her lead more sedately. That smile, soft and gentle, was so reminiscent of happier times that Sara found herself returning it.

They ate in companionable silence, the quiet only punctuated by flitting looks and smiles, and idle chitchat about how good the food truly was. Grissom commented that living on a boat didn't lend itself to fancy cooking, and Sara refrained from telling him that living alone didn't either. It wasn't until the waitress returned to clear their empty bowls that Grissom cleared his throat and looked up meaningfully at Sara.

"You must be…wondering why I asked you out to dinner," he said hesitantly.

"For old times' sake, you said."

He gave her a nod, smiled stiffly. "The truth is…I took Heather to dinner last night – after she finished at PD – and—"

Sara's gaze averted uncomfortably. _There we go again_ , she thought, _more talk of Heather._

"—and she told me I should be taking _you_ out, not her."

Sara's eyes snapped up to meet his. She tried to hide her discomfort behind a smile, but failed to. "She did, huh?"

He chuckled uneasily. "I know what you're thinking; that we're only here at her suggestion." He sighed, held her gaze as he spoke. "And maybe it's true."

The honesty in his words cut deep. "Well, at least, that's honest," she said, her hand shaking as she reached for her glass and raised it to her lips.

"I'm trying to be." His shoulder lifted. "Maybe I needed a kick up the backside."

"Well, ass kicking is certainly right up her alley," she remarked dryly, before she could censor her words. "Literally."

"Sara―" he warned, but failed to keep the amusement out of his tone.

She raised her hand in apology. "You're right. I'm sorry. That was a cheap shot, and totally uncalled for. I completely take it back. So…you were saying, she gave you a deserved kick up the ass and―"

Grissom laughed. "You're not making this easy for me, you know."

"Good," she said, "Because it's not easy for me either."

Slowly nodding his head in understanding, Grissom let out a long breath. "She told me a few truths, made me realise a few things, and anyway I am glad I found it in me to ask you out tonight. It's something I— _we_ needed to do. Talk, I mean. Face to face and openly, like we're doing."

Was that what they were doing? Sara gave him a slow nod as she let his words sink in. Well, so far it sounded like he was doing all the talking, and mainly about Heather. "Okay," she said, feeling her temper rise at his self-righteous tone, and set her glass down. She arched a brow challengingly. "You want honesty? I'll give you honesty. What pisses me off most in all this is that you came back for _her_ when you couldn't come back for me, that you value her friendship more than mine." Her emotion was getting the better of her, and feeling tears rise she clamped her mouth shut. Once again she reached for her wine, then thought better of it and put it down again agitatedly. She didn't want him thinking that on top of everything else she had a drinking problem.

"That's not true, Sara," he denied vehemently, his voice rising before he checked himself."I don't value her friendship more than I value yours, and I certainly didn't come back just for her. Sure she needed me, but what did I do that the lab couldn't have done?"

"You were there for her as her friend," Sara retorted heatedly, punctuating every word with a pointed finger. "There were times when I needed you too, Gil, and you weren't there."

To his credit, he didn't shy away from her stare or her accusations, even though he must have been deeply uncomfortable discussing his faults and shortcomings, his feelings and thoughts, and ultimately his decisions. "I could say the same thing about you," he retorted softly, sadly, but not accusatorily, and realising that what he was saying was true Sara looked away.

He cast a look around, checking their surroundings, and kept his voice deliberately low. "But I regret that – not being there for you those past few years – and will for the rest of my days." He let out a sigh. "But I can't change the past, Sara. Whatever I did, I did because I felt it was best for both of us. Now I— _we_ can look forward to the future, _should_ look forward to the future, and see how we can move on from where we are now, or choose to stay in the past."

Sara's eyes darted about the place, except to meet his. What he said was true; she couldn't deny it. The long distance and lack of communication had made them both miserable and full of guilt; but had they been any happier since? Well, she knew she hadn't. But that was beside the point. Because to all intent and purposes, it sounded like he was ready to move on – if he hadn't already – like he'd reconciled himself with their failed marriage.

Maybe the divorce had given him back his freedom, the freedom to do as he pleased without having to factor in another person's feelings and needs. Maybe he needed to put his ghosts with her at rest, before he could truly move on with his future, which was why he'd orchestrated this meal. What did she know of his life in the last two years anyway?

"When I lost you," she said, surprising herself with the candour of her words, "I lost my husband, but I also lost my friend, my _best_ friend, and that's what hurts the most."

Grissom swallowed and nodded his head, then flicked his eyes down before hesitantly bringing them back to her face. Sara didn't know it, but her words struck a chord with him. Before he could formulate a reply, the waitress appeared with their main course.

When asked, both declined another drink, and the waitress swiftly left. Without another word, Sara turned to her food, and began to eat a meal she loved, but the constriction in her throat made every mouthful hard to swallow. If he was after friendship and nothing more, then that was fine by her. If he had moved on, then she needed to herself.

She'd managed about two thirds of her walnut scallops, when she pushed to her feet, gruffly excusing herself to go the bathroom. Briefly she contemplated bailing out on him, but then remembered that in her haste to get away she'd left her purse behind. And anyway, soon she'd be able to make her excuses and retreat to the safety of work. Despite it all, he didn't deserve being walked out on.

"Everything okay?" he asked, when she came back.

"Sure," she smiled.

"You phone rang," he said, with a nod at her purse on the floor.

Frowning, she immediately reached for her phone, checked the display and then the message.

"Work?" he asked.

Looking up, she gave him a nod. "Scene out near Primm. I'm going to have to go."

His smile was as resigned as his nod. "You couldn't drop me off on the way, could you?" he asked, as she put her phone away.

Her brow rose. "You didn't drive?"

"My mother brought me," he said, his shoulder rising sheepishly, and laughed.

"You told her who you were meeting?"

His expression sobered. "I did."

"What did she say?"

He laughed again, and then made a sign she recognised well, the sign for, "Good luck." He shrugged, hesitated. "Then she signed something along the lines of…It's about time."

Sara's eyes averted as a lump formed in her throat. Her cell chimed again, and Grissom caught a server's attention and asked for the bill, refused adamantly that she paid for her half. Shouldering her purse, Sara pushed to her feet and then stopped hesitantly. Somehow a _thank you_ and _see you soon_ didn't seem appropriate. A parting kiss would be too much. A hug maybe?

Sara looked toward the entrance door and sighed. "So, you coming, or what?" she asked, glancing back at Grissom.


	6. Chapter 6

"Downtown, or back to Betty's?" Sara asked as she fired up the car. The radio came on, and she turned it off before doing up her seatbelt.

"Betty's, if it's not too much trouble," Grissom replied, reaching for his own seatbelt.

"It's fine."

"You sure? I wouldn't want you to be late."

She gave him a smile, then checked her mirror and manoeuvred out of the space and onto the road. "I tell you what you can do to save me time," she said with a quick look in his direction. "Text Greg, ask him to come in. My cell's in my purse on the backseat."

Grissom watched her uncertainly for a moment, but then reached for her cell and after slipping his glasses on did as bid. A couple of minutes later, Sara's cell chimed with Greg's reply of, "I'm on way," which made Grissom laugh.

"What?" Sara asked, glancing at him.

"Nothing. His responses were never this quick when I was the boss, that's all."

A smile broke across Sara's face. "He's my number one now, my Catherine, can you believe it?"

Grissom sighed. "I hope he has your back like Catherine had mine. You're going to need it."

Her smile faltered, and she refocused on the road. "Did you know he'd bought himself a Triumph motorbike?" she then asked. "A late fortieth birthday present."

The corner of Grissom's mouth lifted wryly. "Early mid-life crisis?"

"He says it's to beat the traffic," she replied, but her tone suggested she shared Grissom's opinion on the matter. She indicated left and took the turn into Betty's neighbourhood.

"So," Grissom began, just as Sara asked, "Home Depot, huh?"

They laughed.

"The AC in my mother's bedroom wasn't working properly so I said I'd take a look at it," he said. "Least I could do in the circumstance, even if I can't stand the place."

"And?"

"All fixed."

Sara smiled, nodded her head and turned her attention back to the road.

"So, huh, I was saying," Grissom tried again just as Sara pulled up outside Betty's building, and paused.

Putting the car in park, she turned toward him and watched him expectantly. He shrugged his shoulder and glanced up at Betty's building through the windshield, and briefly she wondered if he'd changed his mind about what he wanted to say.

"Sara," he said, and met her expectant eyes, "what I should have said earlier―the reason I asked you to come out to dinner with me…it's because I was hoping we could start putting our differences aside." He gave her a trembling smile. "I was hoping we could be friends again. I know it's going to take time to rebuild the trust that's gone, but I'd like to give it a try."

Sara swallowed, averted her gaze to a point beyond him through the window.

"I know I made mistakes," he went on softly, and she brought her eyes back to his face, "I think we both did, but…I've missed you, Sara. I've missed being friends with you." His lips curled with a gentle, tentative smile. "I missed talking with you, even if toward the end we weren't talking much anymore."

She opened her mouth to retort, but he raised his hand off his lap and gently covered her mouth with it.

"I'm not apportioning blame," he said and smiled, and pinching his bottom lip dropped his hand and lifted an uncertain shoulder. "As I said before, I just want to look forward, rather than back."

Sara flicked her eyes away uneasily and nodded her head before giving him a hesitant smile. She knew it was her turn to speak, but at that moment in time she couldn't think of anything to say that would be looking forward to the future rather than rehashing the past.

"Anyways, regardless of what happens next, I wanted you to know." He paused, made a move toward her but reached for the car handle instead. He waited a beat, then turned his back on her to get out of the car.

"I'd like that too," she said, the words rushing out of her mouth, as he was stepping out, "for us to be friends again."

Stopping in his tracks, Grissom turned toward her. She smiled at him, and his face lit up with pleasure and relief alike.

"I meant what I said before," he insisted. "I didn't just come back because of Heather. She gave me the excuse I needed to come back to Vegas and see _you_."

"You've been back before."

"Sure, to visit my mother," he replied. "But not to do right by you—by us."

"You could just have picked up the phone, sent me a text. You managed it today."

He stared back at her unwaveringly, and the conflict and sadness that suddenly appeared unconcealed in his eyes tugged at her heart. "No, Sara. I couldn't. I didn't think I had the right. Not then, not so soon after the divorce."

"And now?"

He gave her a soft smile. "Now, I feel differently."

Sara's heart was beating double time. He held her gaze briefly before he turned away and got out of the car. She was happy they'd reached an understanding and had begun to talk again, even if it was still strained and rather fraught at times. He was taking steps to rebuild their friendship and she would meet him halfway. Of course she wanted more from him, but if that was all he could offer her, then she'd happily take it. She said she'd missed him, and she had, more than she cared to admit even to herself.

"I had fun tonight," he said, leaning into the car, and Sara refocused with a start. "Despite what you may think. Thank you."

"I did too," she said, holding his gaze. "Despite what you may think."

His face lit up with a smile she returned warmly. "You take care," he said.

Her smile faded. "You too. And stay safe on that boat of yours."

After a nod and a lingering look, Grissom closed the car door and started walking toward his mother's condominium. It was with a heavy heart that Sara put the car in gear and pulled away. She didn't see Grissom stop in his tracks when he felt he was out of sight, or the sad look on his face as he watched her speed away until she disappeared round the corner. And all Sara could think about as she drove to the lab was that he hadn't kissed her goodbye.

When she pulled in to the CSI car lot, Greg was already there and stood removing his helmet next to his motorbike. She parked a few spaces further on, then caught him up as he locked up the bike. They walked in together, got their kits and the keys to a Denali and went on their way. Their brief was short – female DB found on an isolated farm on the outskirts of Primm. Sara took the wheel, and feeling a little tension Greg let her. The ride was silent, Sara lost in thought, while Greg pretended to watch the scenery. They'd been driving about twenty minutes when he finally spoke.

"Denalis never smell this good normally," he remarked, and giving her head a shake Sara turned toward him and gave him a puzzled look. "The car smells nice, Sara," he rephrased impatiently. "And it's not me, 'cause it's a known fact that wearing perfume dulls one's sense of smell. Grissom told me that often enough, as I'm sure he told you."

Sara's frown deepened before understanding dawned, and pulling a face at him she refocused her gaze on the road.

"Did you go out on a date?" Greg asked with disbelief.

Sara shrugged. "It wasn't a date, but yeah, I was out for a meal when the call came in. I came straight in. No big deal."

"No big deal?" he repeated incredulously. "Come on, Sara, you and I both know you wouldn't bother putting on perfume if—" Greg's words died on his lips, as his eyes widened suddenly. "I thought something was off," he said, reaching inside his coat pocket for his cell. He swiped the screen a few times and grinned. "Bingo."

"What are you doing?" Sara asked, puzzled.

"Grissom," Greg said. "You went out for a romantic meal with Grissom."

Sara frowned, but didn't bother refuting it. "It wasn't romantic," she said.

He arched a challenging brow. "Wasn't it?"

Sara opened her mouth to deny it, but then thought better of it and shook her head impatiently. "How did you know it was Grissom anyway? It could have been anyone."

"The text you sent me―or not, as the case was."

"Don't tell me. Grissom signed it?"

"No, he didn't. But he might as well have. There was something different yet strangely familiar about it, and now I get it." Sara eased a sideways look at Greg and he grinned at her. "Oh, it must have been all kinds of awkward."

Sara smiled. "You could say that again."

"And he was still in one piece when you left? Or are we going to get a call in a week's time when they find his decomposing body in some dumpster someplace?"

Sara laughed. "I'm not that bad."

"After what he did? Who'd blame you if you were?"

Sara paused. "It wasn't just him, Greg."

"You've changed your tune."

Her smile saddened. "Time does that to a person."

Greg nodded, turned his gaze back to the road, and Sara prayed that that was the end of it. "So, huh, you're going to see him again?" he asked, after a moment in quiet contemplation.

"I'm sure our paths'll cross again at some point," she replied, laughing, "but not in the near future no. He's headed back to San Diego tomorrow some time." To hide the sudden discomfort her words had triggered, Sara focused her attention back on the road and ignoring Greg's many curious glances kept silent the rest of the way.

On their return at the lab, Greg went to log in their evidence while Sara made straight for her office. On her desk, a neat pile of phone messages waited for her. She picked them up, slowly flicked through them, balled and tossed a few she didn't need to act on, and then paused when she reached the last one. Heather Kessler had called at 22.35, asking for Sara to call back and leaving her cell number. Anytime, the message read. Sara checked her watch and arched her brow. It was three in the morning, and briefly she contemplated taking her up on her 'Anytime' and calling her right then.

Shaking her head, she was about to ball up the message and toss it in the trash with the others when she decided not to. She set it aside, sat down at her desk and turned her computer on. What could Heather want, she wondered? And more importantly, what could Heather have to say that she would want to hear? As the hours passed and she worked, her eyes kept drifting to the message. Her curiosity was piqued, she couldn't deny it.

The end of shift came and went, and Sara remained at her desk, signing off on cases and lab tests requests, typing memos and returning emails. With a sigh, she picked up Heather's enigmatic message and stared at it once more. What if the call was case related, she wondered then? Before she could change her mind, she picked up her desk phone, dialled Heather's number and began to compose her opening sentence. She'd keep her tone professional, her voice free of emotion. On the fourth ring, just as Sara was expecting the call to go to voicemail, Heather picked up. Her voice was soft and raspy, and Sara wondered whether she'd got her out of bed.

Sara cleared her voice. "Heather, it's Sara Sidle here, returning your call?"

"Oh. Hello, Sara."

"You sound…surprised. This isn't a bad time, is it?"

"No, not at all. I just…" Heather gave an uneasy laugh, "Well, I guess I wasn't expecting you to call back, that's all."

Sara took a breath, counted to five, so as not to show her impatience. "So what can I do for you? Is it pertaining to the case?"

"The case? Oh, no." There was a moment's pause. "No. I was wondering if maybe you'd agree to meet me. I'd like to talk to you, if you don't mind."

Sara's face registered surprise. That she hadn't expected. "Couldn't we…talk on the phone?" she asked. "I'm still at work and…"

"I'd rather do it in person."

Well, I wouldn't, Sara thought, but didn't say. "Is it about Grissom?" she asked, already on the defensive, "Because if it is, then I think we've said everything there is to say."

Heather took a breath. "I―I wanted to apologise to you, Sara," she said. "For being so hostile yesterday during the interview."

"Oh."

"I was out of place and…said some things I had no right to say to you."

Sara frowned. "Did Grissom put you up to this?"

"Grissom?" Heather repeated with obvious surprise. "No. He didn't. He doesn't know I'm calling, and I'd rather keep it that way. Sara, during the interrogation I led you to believe that I love Grissom, and I do, but not in the way I implied. Certainly not in the way you love him, and he loves you. I was angry and I lashed out, at you, because you were an easy target."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Heather let out a long breath. "Because what I said to you wasn't fair on Grissom. I know how you feel about me, and about my friendship with your—"

Heather stopped talking abruptly, and Sara understood she was about to say _husband_.

"Grissom isn't happy, hasn't been for some time," Heather went on. "And I fear my comments have made matters worse between you."

Heather paused, but unsure how to respond Sara remained silent.

"Listen, Sara," Heather said impatiently, "you've got to get yourself off that high horse of yours and back to the ground with the rest of us. We all make mistakes – some we can rectify, others not, and certainly not before it's too late. You'd do well to remember it. I won't take any more of your time. Thank you for returning my call."

And with that, Heather hung up. Sara stared at the phone numbly for a long time as she tried to process what Heather had said before she finally hung up too and returned to her work. Mindless paperwork would be sure to take her mind off her worries. But try as she might, she couldn't get focused. Heather's words kept playing in her mind.

She was thinking of calling it a day when she felt eyes on her – _his_ eyes on her. She looked up and found Grissom leaning against the door frame, staring at her with a soft smile on his face. He wore the same dark pants he'd been wearing for their dinner, but had swapped the button-down shirt for a polo shirt. A visitors' badge was clipped to the waistband of his pants.

"Hey," she said, surprised by the impromptu visit, her weariness immediately dissipating.

"Hey," he returned quietly, the smile growing on his lips. "It's strange seeing you that side of the desk."

Sara gave an uneasy laugh. "It's strange sitting on that side of the desk." She paused. "You're here on business?"

He laughed. "No. I—I came by to see you actually, drop something off." He glanced behind him hesitantly, then stepped inside her office, a wide smile forming as his gaze veered to a point beyond her. "Wow!" he said excitedly, his eyes finding hers. "You kept her all these years?"

Sara winced. "Hodges did. He brought her back yesterday."

"Good old Hodges." Grissom smiled, shook his head, then turned back toward her. "Anyways, I…" He reached inside his pocket, removed a business card and gave her a guilty look. "I wanted to give you this. I forgot earlier. It's got all my details on the back."

Frowning, Sara took the proffered card and stared at the contact details for Ocean Peace. On the back, he'd written an address in San Diego. Her heart sank at the thought that his new life wasn't always at sea and maybe included a new love. There was so much she still didn't know.

"It's a small one-bedroom apartment I'm renting," he said, when she made herself look up. "I've only had it few months and I'm hardly ever there, but it's a base. So…if ever you were headed San Diego way, let me know. The management company that looks after the place when I'm not there has a key." His shoulder rose awkwardly. "Obviously."

Sara managed a small smile and a nod. "Thank you," she said, raising the card in his eye line.

She was about to mention it wouldn't be any time soon on account of how short-staffed the lab was, but didn't. He'd taken another step, and now it was her turn. Before she could think too much about it, she reached over and gave him a hug, one he returned warmly when he'd recovered from his surprise. Tears stood poised in Sara's eyes, but she held on to them.

After exchanging another round of warm parting words and _take cares_ Grissom left and Sara slumped down onto her chair. She heaved a deep sigh and stared at his address on the card for a long time before looking up toward her open door.

"Grissom isn't happy, hasn't been for some time," echoed in her head. "And I fear my comments have made matters worse between you."

Had Heather really called to apologise? Or was it just a front? And why would she betray Grissom's confidence like she had? And to her, of all people? She frowned. Why should Heather care if their failed relationship worsened, unless she knew it mattered to Grissom? Was that why she'd become so short when faced with Sara's non-response?

Her heartbeat quickening, Sara stood up and rushed out of her office. Hopefully, Grissom would still be around, catching up with one of the techs. She checked all the labs, outside too, but saw no signs of him. Breathless, she retraced her steps inside, stopped by the front desk, only to be told what she already knew, that he'd already left. She was headed back to her office when she walked past the evidence locker and stopped.

She was going to make herself walk on when she hesitated. What else had Heather said, she wondered now, remembering Lindsey's and later Catherine's pleas for her to view the video recording of Heather's statement? Blowing out a breath, she went in and signed out the box of evidence pertaining to Heather's case, took it back to her office and found the padded envelope with Heather's name on it.

Should she watch it, she wondered again? Would it cause more harm than good? And what could it tell her that she didn't already know?


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Some dialogue in this chapter is taken directly from _Immortality_ itself, and isn't mine. You'll recognise it. ;-)

* * *

It was with trembling hands that Sara inserted the memory card into her computer and opened the software to view the video. Before she could play the recording, there was a knock on her door and with a sigh of impatience she told her visitor to come in.

Ecklie popped his head in, a cautious smile on his lips. "Is this a bad time?" he asked.

Sara gave her head a shake. "Sorry, Conrad," she said, "I didn't mean to snap. It's just that it's been a long shift, that's all."

Ecklie nodded, stepped fully into her office. "I won't keep you long. I saw you were still here and…anyways…I just wanted to check in with you. See how you're bearing up so far."

"So far, so good," Sara replied.

"And also to let you know I'm on the case for more staff."

"Thank you."

Ecklie stared at her briefly before he nodded his head. "Don't forget to go home, Sara," he said, making for the door. "If you let it, this job'll just take over your life."

Sara gave him a pallid smile.

"I mean it. Go home and get some sleep. Whatever's next on your to-do list can wait until tonight I'm sure."

Sara gave Ecklie a pacifying nod and smile, but no sooner had the sheriff closed the door behind him than the smile died on her lips and she turned her attention back to her computer. She had one more thing to do, and then she'd go home. She thought about fast-forwarding to the end as Lindsey had suggested, but then thought better of it. If she was going to do this, however punishing it was, she'd watch it all.

All of Heather's comments pertained to the case, and none related to her or Grissom, or both, even if she tried reading between the lines, which she did, and idly she wondered if she was even viewing the right recording. What she did notice though was how worn out and pallid Heather looked, how vulnerable too, now that her audience was gone. And as Heather spoke, her voice soft and breaking at times, Sara glimpsed for the first time at the woman Grissom saw, not at the persona she'd craftily created and presented to others. The officer finally stood, indicated they'd finished. Heather signed her statement and, taking it from her, the officer turned and left.

Sara let out a long sigh, angry with herself for wasting her time when she'd known all along that viewing the video would serve no purpose. She was about to stop the recording when Grissom's soft voice came on, stopping her in her tracks. The breath caught in her chest. A stiff smile forming on her face, Heather changed her focus to a point just beyond the camera, and Sara guessed that Grissom must have been there watching all the while.

"That's it," he said, "We're done. Thanks for your statement."

Sitting back, Sara swallowed the lump in her throat and watched Grissom move into the frame. Her heartbeat quickened as her eyes locked on him, tracking his body movement and mannerisms, despite the fact that he had his back to the camera. Her nerves were fraught with tension and anticipation while he looked to all intent and purposes perfectly at ease.

"The DA may ask you to testify," he went on, clasping his hands together, "but that's entirely up to you."

Sara's eyes flicked to Heather on the screen, waiting for her reply. She was curious. She'd never seen them interact before, not like this without other people present, and wondered at how comfortable they would be with each other, how formal, at how deep their friendship really went. Would he offer words of comfort? A warm embrace, maybe?

"Sure," Heather said blankly, "Whatever." Then she reached down for her purse.

Pausing, Grissom slowly sat down at the table across from Heather who, head tilting to the side in interest, stopped in her tracks. Sara could see his profile face now, and as she waited with bated breath to hear what he had to say she couldn't help noticing the tautness of his posture, the clasped hands and interwoven fingers betraying his underlying anxiety despite his apparent calmness. He wasn't as in control as he'd like to appear. Sara wondered if Heather had noticed it too.

"Heather, before I get back on my boat," he said, and Sara could well imagine the trembling half-smile that accompanied his words, "I wanted to thank you."

Sara frowned and found herself holding her breath for his next words.

"Thank me for what?" Heather asked, stealing the words out of Sara's mouth.

Grissom took a breath, hesitating, and she knew he was choosing his words carefully. "When we first met, I—I had a shell around my heart. I'd lost my belief in humanity. The only truth I knew was empirical science. I—I just wanted to thank you for opening my heart."

Feeling tears of jealousy rise, Sara brought a closed hand to her mouth. She knew it was stupid and irrational, but she couldn't help how she felt right then. How could he bare himself and speak so candidly to Heather? Why couldn't he open up to _her_ , talk to _her_ like that? The sincerity of his words pierced right through her, and she didn't understand why Catherine had insisted she watched this. She wiped at her tears angrily. This wasn't about her; this was about him thanking Heather for being his friend all these years.

Sara was about to turn the recording off, when Grissom said, "Through you, I learned to love someone."

Her hand froze on the computer mouse. Her ears pricked up, her frown returned. Had she heard him right? She paused the recording, wound it back a little and watched it again. "Through you, I learned to love someone." Her heart hitched, ached. Dared she hope that someone was her and not Heather?

"Sara?" Heather asked, looking and sounding so sure of herself.

She couldn't see his face, but she knew even before he spoke what the answer was. His body language gave him away, and closing her eyes Sara let out a long shaky breath. More tears escaped, and her eyes reopening she brushed them away.

"She restored my faith in the human being," he said, and Sara stopped breathing. "Plus, she helped me with my crossword puzzles." He must have smiled then, because Heather smiled back, and Sara instinctively did too. He paused, and when he spoke again he sounded sad and melancholy, regretful even, his pain and longing plain for her to hear. "She's been my best friend. I'll miss her. For the rest of my life."

Sara pinched her lips and waited for more, but it looked like he'd said it all. He and Heather stared at each other silently for a moment longer before they pushed to their feet, Heather reaching down for her purse, and left the room. Her tears were falling freely now, the sadness and resignation in his words heart-wrenching, compounding her own wretchedness.

And yet her sense of confusion remained. If all this time he loved her why ask for a divorce? If he loved her, if he _still_ loved her, why stay away? Why not come back and at least try to patch things up? Did he think it was too late? Was that why he was settling for friendship with her instead? Because he didn't think he had the right for more? What should she do now, she wondered? He was headed back to San Diego today. She couldn't let him leave like that, believing she didn't love him back. She'd been so cold to him, so protective of her own feelings that she hadn't thought of his.

Sara hurriedly ejected the video memory card, returned it to its case back in the envelope and the envelope back in the box. Grabbing her jacket and her purse, she took the box back to the evidence locker and rushed out of the lab and to her car. It was still early; she might just catch him before he left. She fixed her cell to the dashboard holder and tried dialling his number. The call went straight to voicemail, and at a loss as to what to say she didn't leave a message. The call would show as a missed call, so he'd know she'd called anyway.

Sara was lucky with the traffic and reached Betty's apartment complex in good time. With no time to waste, she jogged up to Betty's building and breathless jabbed her finger to the intercom, only belatedly remembering to look at the tiny camera that fed the picture to Betty. The door clicked open. Sara pushed on it hard, letting herself in, and forgoing the elevator took the stairs to Betty's first floor apartment. The door opened before she got there, and looking a mixture of surprise and puzzlement Betty stepped out.

"Sara," she signed quickly. "What are you doing here? Has something happened?"

Panting, Sara opened her mouth to reply but then remembered to use her hands instead. "Gil," she signed, and paused to think of the correct signs before she carried on. "I've come to see him. Is he here?"

Betty's expression changed to that of sorrow as understanding seemed to dawn. She shook her head in reply, and Sara's heart sank. Betty took a step back, then turned and beckoned Sara inside. Sara looked behind her toward the stairwell, then grudgingly followed Betty in.

"You're too late," Betty signed, turning after closing the door behind Sara.

 _Too late_ , Sara thought, the signs replaying in her head.

Looking sad, Betty opened her hands in a helpless gesture and sighed. "He's gone. He left over two hours ago."

Sara frowned as she made sense of the signs, then checked her watch and blew a deep breath. He must have been on his way to the airport when he'd stopped by the lab to see her. No wonder he hadn't hung about. His taxicab must have been waiting outside for him. At a loss and suddenly feeling very tired, Sara rubbed a shaky hand over her eyes and down her face. Betty touched her gently on the arm, and Sara let herself be led to the couch.

Sara sat down and buried her head in her hands. What was she doing coming here anyway, she wondered suddenly? What was she hoping to achieve? Did she think he would put his life on hold for her and stay? Would she for him, if he asked her to? She had no right to be here. She had no right to go after him.

Betty tapped her on the knee, and Sara looked up with a start. The older woman tried a smile, then made the sign for cup of tea, and Sara shook her head before automatically bringing a flat hand to her chin and lowering it in thanks. She felt deflated and lost. Betty sighed, then sat down next to her and patted her hand to her knee again. The gesture however comforting it was meant to be felt awkward, the look of pity in Betty's eyes more than she could stand. Sara restlessly sprang to her feet and wrapping her arms around herself began pacing the spot in front of the couch.

"I'm sorry," she signed suddenly, making a fist and rotating it over her chest. Her hands were shaking, and she balled them into fists to stop the tremor. Her signing was hesitant and only approximate, but she hoped Betty got the gist of it. "I shouldn't have come. I don't know why I came." She pointed to herself again and then stopped, shook her head. Tears formed, filling her eyes, and she looked away.

Betty stood up, caught her eye and gave her a tender smile before affectionately brushing her hand to her cheek in a motherly gesture she'd seen her give Grissom on a couple of occasions. Staring straight in Sara's eyes, she pulled her hand back and shook her head disparagingly. She raised her hands and kept them poised for a moment before she sighed.

"He didn't want to leave," she signed, and frowning Sara lowered her eyes, concentrating on the older woman's confident hands. "But he made himself go." Betty paused, and Sara looked up sharply, hoping she'd understood correctly. Betty shrugged a helpless shoulder and stared at Sara intently. "You've been here before, haven't you?" she went on slowly. "You and Gil?"

Sara's tears returned, and unable to hold Betty's probing gaze Sara averted her eyes and nodded her head forlornly, resignedly.

Betty moved in her eye line. "Do you love him?" she asked with her hands.

Sara didn't have to think of her answer. She simply held Betty's eyes steadily and once again nodded her head. She hoped her heartache was plain to see, because she didn't have the signs to express what she felt. Raising her hands, she searched for the correct sign and managed, "Always," before once again dropping her hands uselessly.

Betty stared at Sara's dejected face a beat longer, then let out a long breath and turned away. She stood there a moment, hesitating, before she walked out of the room and returned, holding a piece of paper she held out to Sara. Frowning, Sara made to take it, but visibly reluctant to hand it over Betty paused and her frown deepening Sara dropped her hand. It was almost as if she was giving it to Sara against her better judgement.

"If you go to Gil," Betty signed, paper in hand, her stern gaze on Sara's face all the while, "you've got to be sure." She stopped to make sure Sara had understood, before adding, "He is hurting too."

Betty paused again, watched Sara for another long moment before finally holding out the paper. Sara took the paper and as she read the information on it understood why Betty was being so cautious and reluctant. Grissom had jotted down the name of the airline, the number and time of departure of his flight. Sara looked up at Betty and stared at her with disbelief, then quickly checked her watch. His flight left in forty-five minutes. She'd never make it on time. And even if she did, he'd most probably already be through passport control. She sighed, glanced up to Betty with a sad smile.

"I am too late," she signed hesitantly.

Betty's face mirrored Sara's desolation. "It's never too late," she replied with her hands.

Sara nodded, apologised for the intrusion, then turned on her heels and left, got into her car, started it up and then sat there. Her mind was blank; she felt completely drained of energy. She knew she should go home, eat some breakfast and catch a little sleep before she'd have to clock on again, but she couldn't muster the strength. She thought about driving to the airport, but what would it accomplish? By the time she got there his plane would be soaring into the sky anyway.

It wasn't as if he could stay, or she could go with him. They both had commitments, their lives seemingly on two very different tracks. No, maybe it was better this way, less complicated. They'd parted on good terms, and she vowed she would make more of an effort to keep in touch, be a friend to him. She blew a breath, dried her face, then slipped on her sunglasses and pulled away, drove on autopilot. At the intersection, instead of taking a left to go home, she turned right. Before she could think on what she was doing, she took another right turn, headed toward the Strip and McCarran airport.

What if he'd deliberately left his flight details with Betty, she couldn't help wondering? What if until the very last moment he was waiting, hoping for her to turn up and tell him he was making a mistake? She owed it to herself, and she owed it to him, to at least try. She had no trouble finding a space in the short-term parking garage and after locking the car jogged over to terminal 1 and departures. As usual the airport was packed, and weaving through the bustling crowds she headed for the closest TV monitor. His flight was on time and boarding.

She rushed over to passport control but only half-heartedly now and didn't see any signs of him. She craned her neck past the guard, checking the winding lines of people waiting to go through customs. Her disappointment palpable, she blew a deep breath, checked herself and her surroundings, and then slowly retraced her steps back out of the terminal. And even then, she couldn't help searching around, scanning the crowds, shops and gangways, the many eating places and waiting areas, for his face.

Back in her car she called his cell again, and this time when she got his voicemail she didn't hang up. "Gil, it's me," she said, with false cheeriness. "I—I hope you have—had a good flight. Call me when you get in." She was going to add more, but then thought better of it and hung up just as a plane took off overhead. And as she queued at the exit barrier tracking its ascent with her eyes she wondered if he was on it.

The roads were quiet as she drove home, the sun high in the sky. She pulled up in her drive, locked the Prius, and head held low made straight for the front door. She was reaching for her key in her purse when someone stepped out from under the porch and stood there in the shadows, watching her.

Startled, Sara stopped in her tracks, removed her sunglasses and stared, tears once again filling her eyes. Looking emotional too and somewhat uncertain, Grissom took a hesitant step toward her, and then another, and she walked over to him, slowly at first and then faster, as though reeled in by an invisible thread. A trembling smile breaking across his face he opened his arms out to her, and she fell into his embrace, the tears that had stood poised in her eyes finally falling. They held each other tightly for a long moment, before he pulled back, cupped her face into his hands and stared at her earnestly. The love she saw shining in his watery eyes chased away her last lingering doubts.

"Your flight," she gasped.

His shoulder rose as his smile widened. "There'll be others."


	8. Chapter 8

Just when Sara thought Grissom was closing the gap to kiss her, a dog barked nearby. A look of uncertainty flashed across his eyes and he paused. His gaze flitted uncertainly to his left then lowered, and taking a step back he dropped his hands from her face. Sara let out an inward sigh, and watched as he brought his eyes back to hers again and offered her a tentative smile. He was being cautious, and truth be told she couldn't blame him. There was so much they needed to sort through, so much they needed to talk about, she didn't want to rush into anything either.

"I―" he began, his shoulder rising self-consciously.

"You been waiting a long time?" she asked, cutting in without meaning to.

"Yeah. I have," he said, a slow smile creeping over his features as he held her gaze steadily. "A little over two years."

The breath caught in her throat. Afraid to believe what his turning up at her door truly meant, she licked her lips fearfully before looking away toward the house.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, "I shouldn't have said that."

Sara forced her lips into a smile and raising the keys in his eye line walked past him toward the house. "Let's go inside," she said in a small voice.

He gave a nod and followed her to the front door. "I got your message," he said, shouldering the backpack he'd leaned against the wall while she unlocked the door and stepped inside to disable the alarm. "So here I am."

She dumped her keys in the bowl on the hallway table, dropped her purse to the floor and took off her shoes. They both knew he had to have been at the house already when she'd called him the second time and left a message, or he wouldn't be here now. Quietly, he closed the door behind him and lowered his backpack on the tiled floor in a recess nearby.

She could feel his eyes on her as she slipped her feet into her house shoes, but when she turned around he busied himself looking around the room. She didn't think much had changed since he was last there, but he may think differently. His eyes alighted on the plant he'd gifted her, then on the photograph of the two of them taken in Costa Rica she kept next to it, the only one she still displayed. She saw him swallow then look up at her with surprise.

 _There you have it_ , she thought, _the proof that I haven't moved on, that there hasn't been anyone else in my life since the breakup, that there could never be._

A small, uncomfortable smile formed on her lips before she turned away, moving into the lounge, and after toeing off his shoes he joined her there. She thought about tidying the note he'd included with the plant and the broken necklace she'd left lying on the coffee table, but decided against it. She hoped that he hadn't got on that plane because he wanted to talk, truly talk with her, and she decided there and then that she'd be honest and open with everything.

Taking off her jacket, she moved to the bedroom and quickly got changed out of her work clothes, then rummaged inside the bedroom closet before returning to the lounge with an old pair of his slippers. She hoped the message behind the gesture would be clear to him. Regardless of what happened next between them – or not as the case may be – she wanted him to feel welcome and at ease in what was once his house too, even if he hadn't lived in it all that much.

He'd made himself comfortable on the couch, her necklace in his hands as deep in concentration he tried fixing it. He didn't seem to have noticed she'd come back, and feeling sad and wistful for the loss of the easy relationship they once had she watched him for a moment before moving forward and dropping the slippers by his feet. Glancing toward them, his face lit up and he laughed.

"You kept them?" he asked with evident disbelief, looking up at her over the top of his glasses.

She shrugged. "What I didn't take to your mother's is in the garage. These just…stayed in the closet."

Grissom stared at her at length, his eyes soft and searching, before fixing her with a disarming smile that made Sara's heart flutter. "The clasp's broken," he said, needlessly, as he lifted the necklace in her eye line. "I'm afraid it's beyond what I can do. It'll need taking to a jeweller's."

She looked down at the pendant in his trembling hands. "I know, and I will." She looked back up. "I'm lucky Jim found it at all. I hadn't even realised I'd lost it until he brought it back to me."

Grissom nodded; his expression became thoughtful. "I wish I could have spent more time with him. We hardly had time to speak at all."

"Well, now you have more time. I'm sure he'd appreciate a call. I think the explosion shook him more than he'd care to admit."

Grissom nodded his head.

"You could always ask him to come over to the house," she insisted. "It's no trouble. I got shift tonight anyway, so you two can have the place to yourselves."

He stared at her in surprise. "I might just do that," he said enthusiastically, and Sara smiled.

Returning the smile, he turned his attention back to the necklace, studied it intently for a moment longer, and Sara wondered whether he too was remembering where and when he'd got it her. Without another word, he reached across and delicately placed it back down onto the coffee table next to the note before slipping his slippers on and pushing to his feet.

"Why didn't you pick up?" she asked suddenly, quietly, her tone one of curiosity rather than accusation or anger. "When I called your cell earlier."

He refocused on her with a start, locked gazes. "I figured I'd reply in person," he said, his tone light and playful. When tilting her head to the side she fixed him with a probing look, he sighed and lifted his shoulder hesitantly. "I wasn't sure whether I'd made a mistake or not, turning up here unannounced. I mean, to all intent and purposes we'd parted on good terms and I worried I'd be pushing it a bit."

"And still you came."

"I did." He tried a smile. "I—I took a chance and it paid off."

"And work?"

"They can do without me for another day or two. We're not sailing away for another two weeks, on a three-month tour."

Smiling, Sara stared back at him unwaveringly and nodded her head. He was being open and honest, and she couldn't ask more from him.

"We're documenting fishing expeditions near the island of Palau, near the Philippines," he went on enthusiastically. "More than 60% of the world's tuna is caught in the Central and Western Pacific region. Due to the lack of monitoring, control and surveillance capacity, foreign fishing vessels use the high seas to launder fish out of the region. We want this to stop."

She was smiling widely now, like she did every time he told her about one of his projects. There was no doubt he truly enjoyed what he did, and she could never ask him to give it all up, not a second time. Her stomach made a gurgling sound and they laughed. "Talking of tuna," she said, relaxing as she moved to the kitchen. "You want some breakfast? I haven't eaten anything since our meal last night."

He followed her through. "Only if you let me cook it. You look beat."

She glanced at him over her shoulder. "You're on," she said, not needing to be asked twice, and then winced as he reached for the fridge door. "I haven't got much in though."

He opened the fridge and took out the carton of eggs, found a chunk of cheese in the door shelf tray and a few shrivelling mushrooms in the vegetable compartment. "There's enough," he said, placing his load on the counter while Sara set about making them some coffee.

"I think I've an onion left," she said, motioning toward one of the pull-out kitchen cabinets.

In her excitement, she never thought to pick him up on his 'You look beat'. He seemed to remember where everything was, and glancing at him from the corner of her eyes she watched him work. They'd always worked well together and the kitchen was no exception, even if he was decidedly the better cook. But she'd learned over the years and was more than passable at it now. As they worked side by side at the counter, Grissom's hand brushed against hers, accidentally she was sure, but when he kept his hand there and her heart almost stopped she turned toward him. He was watching her tenderly, and she gave him a soft, hesitant smile, a smile he returned warmly.

She so wanted to believe a reconciliation between them was possible, but even if it was, how could they make it work now when they couldn't before?

While he busied himself at the stove, she put some bread in the toaster, placed their drinks on the table she then set for two. Few words were spoken between them, but she kind of preferred it that way. It felt less awkward. It felt like the old days and surprisingly comfortable between them. She realised then that the issues in their marriage had never been when they were together, but when they were apart, as together they could replace their lack of talking with meaningful actions and gestures, physical interactions that had always come more readily to both.

He'd always said that actions speak louder than words as far as he was concerned, but when you lived thousands of miles apart, words were sadly all you had left. And their words gradually began to lose meaning, the Love Yous spoken out of habit, a mere punctuation mark to their phone calls. After a particularly tough case all she'd wanted was to come home to his touch – a hug or a kiss or the simple caress of his fingers brushing at her tears.

"I watched the video," she blurted out suddenly as he added the beaten egg mixture to the onions and sliced mushrooms gently frying in the skillet.

Frowning, he glanced at her. "What video?" he asked, stirring the egg into the vegetables.

"The recording of the statement Heather made at PD?" she said, her eyes on him as she gauged for his reaction. "The officer must have forgotten to turn the camera off when he left and…" Grissom focused his gaze to a point in front of him, and she knew he'd realised what she was saying. "Why can't you talk to me the way you talk to her?" she went on gently. "How can you open up to her like that, and not me?"

He took in a long breath he let out slowly, but didn't answer for some time. He turned his attention back to the food cooking, gave it another little stir before adding the grated cheese and turning the heat right down. She thought he was about to prove her point when he finally spoke.

"It's because I'm not worried about hurting _her_ feelings with my words," he said, turning toward her and raising his shoulder. "Because ultimately I know that like you she'll speak her mind, but her words, unlike yours, don't have the power to hurt me." He paused, and she could see he was debating with himself how honest to be. "Sara, Heather is my friend," he went on, earnestly, "and maybe I find it easier talking to her than I do you because, well, because," he shrugged, "at the end of the day she doesn't matter to me as much as you do."

Sara averted her eyes and swallowed, took a moment to digest his words before nodding her head and looking back up. "At least that's honest."

"What I said to her, I meant," he said. "Every word of it."

The omelette was overcooking and Grissom turned back to it with a start. They ate in companionable silence, sharing lingering looks and smiles, afraid to upset the status quo while trying to decide how best to address the elephant in the room. Thoughts raced through Sara's mind. Where should she start? What should she say?

When he'd finished eating, Grissom carefully tidied his cutlery across his plate, then pushed the plate away toward the middle of the table. He picked up his cup, only to set it down again, licked his lips and finally took a breath. He was searching for the right words to say what he'd come to say, and she found herself eagerly waiting.

"Sara, the truth is…I never got to the airport." He made himself look up then and meet her gaze, and gave her a sheepish smile. "Well, I did, but I never got out of the cab. I asked the driver to take me here instead, cost me a small fortune." He smiled again, and she found herself returning the smile. "And all the while I was waiting here for you, I—I was trying to find the nerve to call you. I thought you'd never get here, that maybe you had other..." he shrugged, "plans." He averted his gaze, then lifted it again and swallowed. "I thought maybe you had somewhere else to be. Someone else to be with."

Holding his gaze, she offered him a warm smile. "There is no one," she said in a low voice, and shrugged and sighed, hesitating before adding, "hasn't been since you." The last word died on her lips as her smile wavered. "If I took so long coming home, it's because I―" She gave a nervous laugh, shook her head in disbelief. "I went to see your mother."

He frowned. "My mother?"

She shrugged. "I―I…wanted to see you before you left and so I went to your mother's looking for you. Needless to say I was too late and you weren't there. You'd already gone. It was kind of awkward, actually. My limited signing is very rusty."

"Sara―"

"I haven't finished." She lowered her gaze to her plate before forcing it back up to his face. "Afterwards I went to the airport, Gil. I went to the airport because, you know, I figured…" she shrugged, let her sentence hang between them, "But your plane was boarding and—"

"I wasn't on it," he cut in earnestly.

Her smile returned. "I know that now. I didn't then."

"And all this time, I was here waiting for you."

The irony of his words wasn't lost on Sara. "Story of our lives, isn't it?" She paused, stared at him intently. "I couldn't let you go," she finally made herself say, just as he said, "I couldn't leave."

They laughed, but soon their expressions turned serious again. He moved his hand forward a little at first before slowly sliding it to the middle of the table, his fingers flexing and unflexing nervously as it stopped there uncertainly. Sara's eyes lowered to it before she looked up to his face and her lips pinching slid her hand to his until their fingers touched, then met and entwined. His fingers closed over hers, squeezing gently yet emotionally. She was about to speak when he raised his other hand, stopping her. It was his turn to speak now.

"Sara, I couldn't leave without telling you that…that, well, I don't want us to be friends, or rather I don't want for us to _just_ be friends. I want more than that."

She felt tears rise, prickling the back of her eyes. "I want that too."

He smiled, then gently lifted their entwined hands and leaning forward brought them to his lips. "I made a mistake asking for a divorce, a terrible mistake I've regretted ever since, but we'd drifted so far apart I didn't know how to…how I could – how _we_ could find each other again. I took the easy way out, the coward's way out, and I'm sorry. What I should have done is come home, but weeks—months passed before I could and…" He shook his head, let his words drift.

"It wasn't all your fault, Gil. I signed the papers too. I could have tried harder, _should_ have tried harder, but I felt so guilty. I still do."

" _You_ feel guilty?"

"Yeah. You left Vegas. You left everything behind and came to _me_. And for a while it was all so perfect. We were happy, truly happy. But then you took the job in Paris and…" He raised his hand to shush her, but she shook her head. "I need to say this, Gil. It's important I say this. You took the job in Paris and I lost my purpose in life."

"I know you did, which is why I always supported your return."

"You did, but my coming back here was our downfall. I know that. I take responsibility for that. You were away and I was here and we simply lost our way."

"We can find our way again," he said passionately. "I know we can."

How? She wanted to ask but afraid yet again of upsetting the balance didn't. She watched him uncertainly, and grasping her hand, he pushed to his feet and pulling her up to hers took her into his arms.

"I love you, Sara, I never stopped."

She lifted a hand to her face, wiping at her eyes. "And I love you."

He reached out to brush away a tendril of hair and then slowly, very slowly, closing the small gap between them touched his lips to hers. Sara closed her eyes and let out a gasp, overwhelmed by the intensity of her body's response. He kissed her once, twice, until she made another sound and her lips parted, welcoming him with a fervour, an excitement, she'd kept repressed for too long.

"Come with me," he said, breathless as he drew back. "It's a big ship, and we could always do with more volunteers."

Sara watched him with tears in her eyes. However much she wanted to, she knew she couldn't. A sad smile forming, she brushed her hand to his face, then opened her mouth only to shut it desolately and shake her head.

"I can't."


	9. Chapter 9

"I'm sorry, Gil," Sara said, her tears spilling when disappointment filled his features, "But I can't. You know I can't."

Grissom sighed and nodded his head, then gave her a trembling smile before pulling her into his arms once again. Closing her eyes, Sara wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly to her. She wished she could have said yes to him, but how could she? She'd worked so hard to get where she was at professionally.

Her new position would be hard work and challenging at times, but she knew that given the chance to prove herself she could— _would_ be good at it. Ecklie had put his trust in her, and she didn't want to let him, or the lab, down. And Grave was so short anyway; the shift couldn't survive without her, not right then, not as it stood. But what now, she wondered as she clung to him desperately? Did her refusal to go with him herald the end of their precarious reconciliation?

"It's okay," he said, stroking his hand to her hair. His voice was hoarse, choked with emotion. "It's okay." And then when they pulled back from each other, "I shouldn't have asked you. I had no right to ask you, Sara."

She stared back at him gravely and stroked her hand to his face. He'd let his heart talk, rather than his head; he'd taken another risk but this time it didn't pay off. "I wish I could have said yes, Gil. I really do, but I―it's the timing of it, you know?"

Her gaze averting, she reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his, stared at their joined hands while she searched for the right words to explain and make him understand that it wasn't because she didn't love him enough, but because she simply had too much going on at work right then. With a sigh, she made herself look back up. "I'd love to go on the expedition with you, you know I would, but I've only just gotten this promotion and…I can't quit, Gil. I just can't."

"Sara, honey, I'm not asking you to quit. I just thought that maybe you could take some time off. _Three_ months off, and come with me."

And what would happen afterwards, she almost asked? She'd come back to her life in Vegas while he returned to his at sea? They'd not been able to make their long-distance relationship work the first time, she doubted they could a second time. Each would just get caught up in their own life again, and let the other slip away.

Sara dropped his hand, and turning to the table picked up their dirty plates she placed on the counter near the dishwasher. She stopped and kept her back to him while she tried to calm her racing heart. He moved behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, and she turned her face toward him, a soft smile on her lips as she brushed her cheek to his hand.

"Do you remember when Warrick died?" she asked, turning round in his arms. "And I asked you to come away with me? Take a trip on the Sea Shepherd?"

He flicked his eyes down and his shoulder lifting in a small shrug nodded his head.

"You said you couldn't come. You couldn't come because of work. Because you couldn't leave the guys short."

He wouldn't meet her eyes, but he once again nodded his head.

"It hurt me, that decision. It hurt that you put the job before me, that you chose the team's wellbeing over mine."

He looked up. "Sara—"

"No, let me finish," she said in a whisper. There was no anger in her words, no resentment or blame, she was just trying to explain why it was the same for her now. "I understand that decision now. I understand why you did what you did. I get that you had no choice."

"In the end," he cut in sadly, "I put you first, Sara. I left everything to be with you."

Her smile was warm and tender. "You did."

He let out a long breath, looked at her straight in the eye.

"It's too soon, Gil. I can't just drop everything, however tempting it is."

Grissom gave her a slow, resigned nod. "I know."

His dejection brought fresh tears to her eyes. "Hold me," she whispered breathlessly. "Tell me I haven't spoiled everything between us again. I couldn't stand it if I had."

"Oh, Sara," he said, pulling her into his arms.

They held each other tightly again for a long moment before Grissom moved. Her decision weighed heavily on her mind, and suddenly she felt drained. It didn't help that she hadn't slept in nearly twenty-four hours either. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against his chest and thought she could go to sleep there and then.

Wordlessly, he guided them to the lounge and sat them down onto the couch. He opened his arm out and tucking her legs under her she nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder while he closed his arm around her and mindlessly stroked his hand to her arm. She stifled a yawn, and then another, and found it increasingly difficult to keep her eyes open and stay awake.

"You should hit the sack," he said after a moment.

"I'm good here," she mumbled, forcing her eyes open a crack.

"You won't be any good at work tonight. Unless, of course, you're thinking of playing hooky and stay here with me instead."

A slow smile spread across her face. "I wish I could."

Smiling, he tightened his hold on her shoulder comfortingly. Sara resumed her former position with her head against him and once again closed her eyes.

"You should really go to bed," he tried again. "You'd be more comfortable."

She was warm and safe in his arms, and oh, so very comfortable. _Only if you come with me_ , came into her head, but sleep had wrapped its warm blanket around her and she never got to voice her thought.

Sara woke to the sound of Grissom speaking on the phone. She opened her eyes and stretched her long limbs out, finding herself alone on the couch. She wiped her hand to her mouth, rolled her shoulders to work the kinks out and pushed back the blanket he'd draped over her. He was in the kitchen, and frowning she tried to listen in to what he was saying but his speech was too quiet.

The blinds had been pulled down over the windows, so only the faintest sunlight shone through. On the coffee table in front of her lay some paperwork he'd obviously been reading, a pen and his glasses discarded over the top of it. She smiled at the thought that he'd sat there working while she'd been sleeping, and realised that she liked having his things lying about the place, that she'd missed it. She stretched again, and was swinging her legs down to the floor when cell in hand Grissom returned to the lounge.

"I'm sorry," he said, a smile forming on seeing her awake, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," she said, stifling a yawn.

He paused, hesitated only briefly before bending down to kiss her on the mouth. Sara smiled against his lips, then reaching her hand behind his neck to keep him in place kissed him back.

"What time is it?" she asked afterwards.

"A little after six."

Her eyes widened. "Already?" Pushing to her feet, she gathered the blanket and began folding it.

"I was on the phone to Brass," he said, and she stopped in her tracks. "He's bringing dinner. We thought we could all eat here together before you'd need to go in. He should be here around seven."

Sara paused. She had a lot on her to-do list, but it would wait. "Sounds good," she said, smiling brightly, as she placed the folded blanket on the couch. "I'm glad you called him." She motioned her hand toward the bedroom. "I'm…going to grab a shower. I won't be long."

He smiled, nodded his head. His eyes lingered on her. "You don't mind, do you?"

She retraced her steps to him and pecked him lightly on the mouth. "I don't mind at all."

A wide, playful smile dancing on his lips, he reached for her waist and gently tugged her to him. His eyes were soft and loving as they gazed at her face. He opened his mouth to speak before visibly changing his mind.

"What is it?" she asked, her eyes probing as she looked into his.

Smiling, he shook his head.

"Did Jim say something?" she tried again. "About you being here?"

"No."

She waited, and when he still didn't elucidate said, "We said we wouldn't do that any more. You were about to say something. You wanted to say something and you stopped yourself."

He shrugged. "You're going to say I'm sappy, or sweet, which is even worse."

"No, I'm not." She pinched her lips to supress her smile, but failed to.

He pursed his mouth, then shrugged. "I was just thinking how lucky I was, that's all."

Sara opened her mouth, but he raised a playful brow, challenging her to say the word and she didn't. Her lips twitched as her smile grew, and she stared at him unwaveringly. Even though a common future between them was still very uncertain, she couldn't remember the last time she'd been this happy, this carefree. She loved having him back in her life, even if it was only for a few days until he had to head back. She felt so light it was literally as if she could walk on air, and she wished it could be like that every day.

His expression darkened suddenly, and he swallowed. His eyes, bright and playful only a moment ago, were now dark with desire. The breath caught in her chest, her mouth opening in a silent gasp, as she recognised the raw emotion swirling around in their depth. Before he could look away and hide what he was feeling, she surged forward and took his mouth in a searing kiss that had him breathless and teetering. Soon, he shifted position, raising his hands to her face as he returned her kiss with passion.

Heat spread through her and she felt herself open up to him, to his touch, every inch of her body that had laid dormant for the last few years tingling as it reawakened. Her yearning for him became so intense that she was filled with a sudden need, a primal, physical need, some basic instinct almost animalistic, to make one with him there and then.

"Sara, we can't," he said, breathing hard as he pulled back.

"Why not?" she panted.

"Jim. He'll be here soon and—"

"And what?"

She lowered her hands to his pants, roughly pulling at the belt buckle, undoing the zipper. His eyes closed, and he let out a low, needy moan. She stopped and waited for him to reopen his eyes, then took a step back and pulled her t-shirt up and over her head. His lips parted as his tongue darted out to lick them. His eyes left her face, hungrily trailing down to her throat, her heaving chest, her breasts. His hands twitched by his sides, longing to touch. He wanted this as much as she did. With a hard swallow, he brought his gaze back up to her face and stared at her intently, a question in his eyes. "Are you sure?"

She gave him a trembling smile, then slowly, never breaking eye contact, nodded her head and taking his hand started walking backwards to the bedroom. Briefly, she wondered at her motivations, at whether this was her way of staking her claim on him. And maybe they were moving too fast and making a mistake, but at that moment in time she didn't care. She loved him. She needed him, craved his touch to make her feel whole again.

Their lovemaking was raw, intense, frenzied and almost desperate at times, as they made up for lost times. His touch at once familiar and different, tender and bold, had been so missed, so wanted, so fantasised about, that it quickly took her to the edge. Her orgasm, when it came, was fast and strong, so unexpected that it took even her by surprise, and as she cried out in his arms she felt him shudder inside her.

Afterwards she let out a long, contented breath and stretched herself out on the bed next to him. "God," she panted against his hot skin, "that was―"

A satisfied smile on his face, he turned his face toward her. "Unexpected."

"Magnificent."

Laughter bubbled out of him. "Magnificent, huh? Is that a ploy to get me to stay?"

She arched a brow. "Would it work if it was?"

Folding one arm under his head, he cast his eyes to the ceiling. "I wish it were this simple," he said, musingly. He sighed, then turned his head toward her. "It's been so long since I felt like this." The words caught, and he swallowed.

"I've missed you too," she said, settling herself into his side, and he pressed his lips to the top of her head.

She felt his lips pull into a smile. "Imagine if Jim were to arrive now," he said, chuckling.

Her eyes widening, she pulled back from him to look at his face. "What are we going to tell him?"

"Nothing. What happens between us is none of his business."

"Maybe it kind of is a little," she said, snuggling back against him. "He knows how I feel about you―still feel about you―and…"

"He does?"

She gave him a sad smile and nodded her head. "These last few years haven't been easy for me. Let's just say there were hard times at work, cases that got under my skin, events that shook me badly. And then there was the divorce..." Pain filled his eyes, and he refocused his gaze to the ceiling. Pausing, she propped herself up on an elbow and caught his eye. "This is us talking, right? Us being honest with each other?"

He sighed. "How do I know I'm not going to like what you're about to say?"

She'd got this far, so she made herself continue, even if her timing left a lot to be desired. "The divorce broke my heart, Gil. I know we were having our problems and hadn't been happy for some time. But as far as I was concerned, it came out of left field, and it took me a long time to put all the pieces together again. And Jim, well, he was there for me – they all were."

"He blames me for what happened between us, doesn't he? They all do."

"It's easier to blame the one who's not there to defend himself."

Sara gave him a small smile he grudgingly returned. They lay in bed for a while longer but much too soon Grissom got up and picked up his clothes off the floor while she jumped in the shower. She was coming out when the doorbell rang. She heard Grissom open the front door and greet Brass warmly.

"No Sara?" she heard Brass say. "I got a veggie one, just for her."

"She's getting ready." Grissom's voice grew distant as he spoke, and Sara guessed they'd gone through to the kitchen.

When, finally ready, she joined them there, they stood leaning against the worktop, chatting animatedly, cold beers in hand. The pizzas were waiting, still boxed, on the table next to some plates and a selection of dips and cut-up vegetables. Knowing that Brass hadn't brought _those_ along, she frowned and wondered when Grissom would have had time to go shopping. Brass had his back to her, but Grissom looked over and smiled. Brass stopped talking and turned, and she moved forward to give him a hug. Grissom reached into the fridge and took out another bottle of beer he then held out to her. They too hadn't been there before.

"You can't have pizza without beer," he said, when briefly she hesitated.

"Hear, hear," Brass concurred, and smiling brightly she took the proffered drink.

The three sat down at the table to eat. The mood was light, friendly, as Grissom first, then Brass, regaled them with colourful work anecdotes. It was just like old times, even if every so often she caught Brass staring at them as they interacted. He had questions, understandably so, but he didn't voice them. He just took it all in his stride, enjoying the moment. She was too, very much so.

An hour passed, and catching sight of the time on the oven digital clock Sara sighed. Grissom gave her a small smile, and she shrugged. "As much as I'd love to stay," she said, pushing to her feet, "I've got to head in, but you two carry on without me."

Brass and Grissom stood up too. Sara gave Brass another hug, thanking him for the laughs and the pizza, and then made her way to the lounge for her jacket, purse and shoes. Grissom joined her there, a paper bag in hand. She pulled the hallway table drawer open and rummaged inside for some keys, a pad and pen. "Your old keys," she said, putting them down on the table. On the pad, she wrote down the code for the alarm. "You staying overnight?"

He paused. "If it's okay with you."

She gave him a bright smile. "What do you think? I just thought maybe you were thinking of going back to Betty's."

He chuckled. "I think it's best my mother doesn't know I'm here. For now, anyway. I couldn't deal with all the questioning, the―"

"Reproach?" she provided when he stopped.

He shrugged. "I was going to say lecture, but reproach too, I guess."

Sara nodded, then after watching him for a beat longer reached for her purse from the floor and made for the door. She opened it, then paused and glancing toward the main room moved forward to kiss Grissom on the lips. "I'll see you after shift."

"You will," he said, a half-smile on his lips.

Sara paused, sighed, hesitating to leave. "See you later, Jim," she called.

"Take care, Sara," he called back from the kitchen.

She looked over at Grissom again and then finally made herself leave. She was searching inside her purse for her car key when Grissom caught up with her.

"You forgot this," he said, waving the paper bag.

"Lunch?" she asked, laughing.

With a sheepish shrug, he thrust the bag into her hands. "Stay safe."

So he had gone shopping after all and made her lunch too. She gave his lips another quick kiss, then climbed into her car. Her heart felt heavy suddenly as she drove to the lab, her mind reeling with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Another day, and he'd be leaving again for three months, she thought then.

And assuming they decided to give their relationship another go, would three months apart be the beginning of the end once again? How would they cope with the separation, and the ones after that? Would they fall back into the same traps and grow distant again? Her heart couldn't take breaking a second time, and neither could his, she was sure.

Maybe it would be easier, certainly less painful, to remain just friends.

A smile twitched at her lips as she pulled into work.

Friends with benefits, maybe?


	10. Chapter 10

Greg and Morgan were in the locker room getting ready for shift when Sara arrived. After exchanging greetings, Sara made for her locker and stowed away her purse and the lunch Grissom had put together for her. She felt a little self-conscious, as if fearing her newfound happiness showed and she was susceptible to be found out. She wouldn't mind as such, if it wasn't for all the caution and concern, and reproach too maybe, that was bound to come her way if people knew.

She still couldn't believe how swiftly and seamlessly Grissom had re-entered her life, how normal and natural it felt to have him home with her. All wasn't forgotten or forgiven of course, and she knew she should tread carefully, but it felt so good between them, so right and genuine. How could she voluntarily deny herself this pleasure? In her heart of hearts she wanted to believe a reconciliation between them was possible despite the many hurdles. Could the last two and bit years of heartache simply be erased from their past?

She was removing her jacket when she paused, a smile tugging at her lips as recollections of her afternoon with him flooded her. God, he'd made her feel so alive and so damn fulfilled and satisfied it was almost scary. She didn't think their making love so soon was a mistake, quite the opposite in fact as once again they'd been able to communicate in ways they simply couldn't with words, but it complicated things. A flush rose to her cheeks, and shaking her head to bring herself back to the present she cast a brief, awkward look around her. Greg looked up from tying his boot lace and smiled at her.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Sure," she replied with a bright smile.

His eyes lingered on her for a beat longer, and she wondered whether he'd seen straight through her and into her mind. She glanced over at Morgan checking her phone, and Greg stood up without another word, much to her relief.

She hung her jacket, then closed her locker and made for the door. "I'll see you in the break-room in fifteen minutes with assignments," she said, and garnering nods from both escaped toher office.

She was checking her messages and writing assignment slips when there was a knock on her open door. She looked up to find Greg standing there, looking hesitant and conflicted. Her smile wavered slightly as she wondered at the reason for his visit. What did he want to say now he couldn't say in the locker room?

"What can I do for you?" she asked, hiding her unease behind a professional tone.

Greg flashed a quick smile, then shrugged his shoulder and Sara frowned.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, concerned now.

"Sure." Greg looked behind him, then fully stepped inside the office and closed the door. "You…you're looking happy."

Sara's puzzlement intensified. "And that's a bad thing?" she tried tentatively.

"Well, no, I guess. It's just that…well, with Grissom due to leave today I thought you might…you know…be feeling down."

Sara couldn't help the amused smile that spread across her face. "Your concern is touching, Greg, but I'm fine." She paused, wondered whether she should tell him that actually Grissom was still in town, but then opted not to. She didn't like to hide the truth from Greg, but Grissom's whereabouts were none of his business and it would save a lot of questioning. And besides, she was doing fine. Her smile returned. Better than fine, actually.

"Okay," Greg said, still looking somewhat sceptical, and then hesitantly made for the door. He paused with his hand on the handle and turned back toward her. "You'd tell me, right? I mean, I'm always there if you need to vent or just remind me what a bastard he is."

"Don't say that," she said quietly, grateful for Greg's support and loyalty but annoyed at his sentiment. "I told you before. I'm—we're…trying to move on from what happened…then. We're trying to look forwards rather than back, toward a future as friends." She gave him a smile, gauging for his reaction, but when he just stared back blankly felt compelled to add, "It's complicated."

Greg managed a smile and a nod of the head before he paused and then went on his way. She wished she could have opened up more on what was truly going on, but she needed to take a moment and step back to really think about her feelings before she could begin to discuss them with Greg and make him understand that despite the divorce Grissom was still the only one for her. And maybe Grissom going away again was a good thing. It would give her some time and space to think things over and decide how best to move forward, if at all.

"Hey, Greg," Catherine's happy voice cooed from the corridor, and then, "Oh, my. You look like you just got a ticking off."

"Hi, Catherine," she heard Greg say, "What brings you here?"

"Do I need a reason to see my favourite people?" There was a pause, and Sara imagined Greg had given Catherine a dubious look. "I'm here to see Sara. She's in her office?"

"Yep."

"I'll catch you later."

Laughing, Catherine breezed into Sara's office like she owned the place. A visitor's badge was clipped to the lapel of her jacket.

Sara's face lit up with a bright smile as she stood up from her desk. "Did I miss a memo?" she asked, as the two friends embraced.

Catherine pulled back. "What memo?"

"The one that said you were starting tonight."

Catherine's smile returned. "I wish. But sadly I can't, not for another week or so, not until all my paperwork's in order—which is why I'm here actually." She paused. "I was wondering if you'd let me use a corner of the lab some place for a couple of hours so I can practise my very rusty processing skills."

"Worried you've lost your touch?"

"Something like that. I promise not to touch anything case-related. I'd just like access to the equipment. The technology's evolved so much in the last few years and I'm afraid I haven't kept up."

Sara patted a reassuring hand to Catherine's shoulder. "Sure. No problem. But you're going to be fine, I promise you. You'll pick everything back up in no time. It's not changed that much."

"Thanks, Sara."

Turning to her desk Sara picked up the assignments slips, then motioned for Catherine to come with her. "How are the girls doing?"

"Elena and Maria? They're doing okay, actually." Catherine paused, hesitating, then stopped walking.

A frown forming, Sara followed suit.

"I—I…" Catherine sighed and lowered her gaze before bringing it back up and meeting Sara's expectant one dead on. "I know it's going to sound crazy, but I was thinking of maybe becoming their foster parent. The authorities are looking for relatives, but so far they haven't found anyone, and I feel so responsible for them."

"You're thinking long term?"

"Yeah."

"Wow," Sara said, stunned. "That's…"

"Crazy, I know. Lily said she'd help, and financially…well, as you know money's not an issue, but it feels like the right thing to do. No. I know it's the right thing to do."

"You're going to be great at it," Sara said vehemently, understanding that Catherine was looking for validation of her decision from her. "Look how well Lindsey's turned out."

Catherine's smile was wide and pleased. "I did well there, didn't I?"

Sara laughed, then raised her assignment slips in front of her and Catherine lifted two fingers to her temple in a salute.

"You're right, boss. Time to get to work. Can't wait to come back and be part of the team again."

"And believe me when I say we can't wait to have you back," she said, knowing that Catherine's presence, expertise and experience would take a lot pressure off her. "Hopefully everything can start to get back to normal then. We have such a backlog."

"And I bet a night off would be nice too."

Sara gave Catherine a genuine smile. "That too."

And as she walked into the break room while Catherine went the other way, she was thinking that a night off while Grissom was still in town would definitely have been nice. Still, it couldn't be helped. Her team of three was waiting for her, chatting animatedly as they sat around the table nursing drinks. She made for the coffee pot and poured herself a cup.

"What's my mother doing here?" Lindsey asked suddenly, frowning as she followed Catherine's progress down the corridor. "I thought she wasn't starting until next week."

"She's not," Sara said, bringing her coffee to the table.

"Worried she's going to cramp your style?" Greg asked, laughing.

Lyndsey shrugged. Sara understood how Lindsey left, but she was sure mother and daughter would find a way to work together without letting their personal differences interfere in their work. Catherine was a professional, and even if Lindsey still had a lot to learn she was bright and keen and shaping up to be a competent CSI.

"It's going to be fine," Morgan said, patting a reassuring hand to Lindsey's shoulder. "I was a little anxious working here with my dad too, you know, with him being the sheriff and all. But it's okay as long as you keep it strictly professional." And then looking at Sara, "And I'm sure Sara won't pair you up together too much."

"I'll try my best," Sara said.

"No, it's Greg we should be worried about," Morgan went on.

Greg frowned. "Me?"

"You're the alpha male now. How are you going to cope with all these women around?"

Greg caught Sara's eye. "I'm sure I'll cope just fine."

"So, assignments," she said, hating to have to be the one to dampen the good mood. She paired Lindsey up with Greg on a murder suicide and Morgan went solo on a B&E. She'd have loved to have gone out in the field too, she was sure Morgan could do with an extra pair of hands, but staff evaluations were due at the end of the week and she was still to make a start. Plus, she had to prepare for her first budget meeting with Ecklie the day after next, and as it was her first one she wanted to be thoroughly ready for it. Grissom used to hate doing all of that, and now she was beginning to appreciate just how much time it took.

Her team was scrambling away when Sean Yeager from days came bounding into the break room. "Sorry I'm late," he told Sara.

She frowned. "Late for what?"

"For shift? Ecklie didn't tell you? I'm your extra pair of hands. Well, only until a permanent appointment can be made."

"Oh." Sara's face lit up. "Great!" She paused, tried to recall his name. "Yeager, isn't it?"

He gave an eager nod. "Sean Yeager, that's right."

"Welcome to Grave." She paused, tried to put some order into her thoughts. "Morgan's headed out – B&E in an industrial unit in North Vegas. You can be _her_ extra pair of hands for now."

A wide smile broke across Yeager's unshaven face. "I look forward to it."

Sara's eyes narrowed uncertainly; was there some history between them she wasn't aware of? "You'd better hurry, or you'll miss her."

"Sure thing, boss."

He was the second person to call her boss, and it still took some getting used to. Smiling at the thought that Greg's alpha male status had been short-lived, she watched as he left then headed back to her office and set down to work. Several times she checked her cell for a missed call or a text from Grissom, but disappointingly there were none. She hoped his evening with Brass had gone well, and that the two men had been able to reconnect a little, or at least properly catch up with each other.

Catherine came by at around midnight and bid her goodnight. When Sara asked why she didn't use the lab during daytime hours, Catherine laughed and explained she was trying to get her body clock used to working nights again and it was tough. The rest of shift was busy, and Sara found the hours slipping by so quickly that it was only when Lindsey came to say she was leaving that Sara realised that shift had ended a good half-hour previously.

"You did good work tonight, Lindsey," she said. "And don't worry about working with your mother. It'll be fine. She's a professional, and a great CSI."

"I know, and that's what worries me. What if I'm not?"

Sara smiled. "You're still young, and learning, but you have all the makings of a great CSI too."

Lindsey's face lit up with pleasure. "Thanks, Sara."

"See you tonight."

"You will!"

Oh, the eagerness of youth, she thought, smiling. She was the same once upon a time, a lifetime ago it seemed. Sara was tidying her desk, looking forward to when she'd finally get home and see Grissom again, when Brass showed his face at her office door.

"Is this a bad time?" he asked, cracking a smile.

"Depends," she replied, smiling too. "On how long you intent to be."

"In a hurry to go home, are you?"

Her smile widened pleasurably. "As a matter of fact, I am."

"Gil's waiting for you there?"

Something in Brass's tone rubbed her the wrong way. Her smile stiffened. "What can I do for you, Jim?" she asked, wary now.

Brass must have picked up on the change, and he stopped all pretence. Stepping fully into Sara's office, he closed the door after him, then made himself comfortable on one of her chairs. Her bubble was about to burst, she could tell.

"You two had a good night?" she asked.

"Yeah. We did." Brass smiled. "It was nice catching up with him."

Sara gave a nod of the head and waited. It wasn't long until his smile vanished and he jumped in with both feet.

"Sara, what's going on?"

Sara paused. She didn't need explaining to know he was talking about Grissom's return into her life. Wondering how much Grissom had opened up about his intention, if at all, she took a seat across from Brass. "What did he tell you?" she asked in a sigh.

Brass didn't hesitate. "That you were talking again. That you were working through your differences."

Her gaze averting from Brass's probing stare, Sara slowly nodded her head. "That's true," she said. "We're…trying to rebuild our friendship."

"Friendship, huh?"

"Yeah," she said in a quiet voice, and this time she made herself hold his gaze steadily. What she was telling him wasn't a lie, even if it wasn't the whole truth. But she wouldn't lie to him – _couldn't_ lie to him – he meant too much to her for that. She just wasn't ready for a lecture.

"So, you're telling me nothing's going on between you," he insisted, his brow rising questioningly, almost as if challenging her to deny what he already knew to be true.

Sara sighed.

"Sara, I'm not stupid," he went on, "So don't treat me like I am. I picked up on all the smiles and looks…I didn't make captain for nothing."

A small smile formed, tugging at the corner of Sara's mouth. "You never did first time round."

Brass tried to keep a straight face, but didn't fully succeed. "That's beside the point."

Again, Sara sighed. "I know what I'm doing."

Brass's brow arched. "Do you? Because it seemed to me, as we talked, that Grissom doesn't. Know what he's doing, I mean."

Sara's ears pricked up at that.

"You do know he's headed back out to sea, right?" Brass went on without pausing for breath.

"Of course."

"And you're prepared to wait for him? How long for this time? Didn't you learn anything the first time?" Sara opened her mouth to argue, but Brass raised a hand, immediately apologising for what he'd said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it came out. I know you're a big girl and old enough not to have an old timer like me breathing down your neck. All I ask is that you be careful, and that you put yourself and your wellbeing first. Don't go making the same mistakes again. That's what I told Gil, and I'm telling you now."

"You've got no right to…"

"To what, Sara?" he questioned gravelly, but not unkindly. "Interfere? I care about you, hell I care about the both of you, but he can look after himself. I saw what happened the last time, how tough it was for you." He sighed. "I remember, even if right now you don't."

"You didn't warn him off, did you?"

Brass gave a wry chuckle. "You think it'd have worked if I had?" He sighed. "Who do you take me for? But I did tell him a few truths, which needed to be said before you both make a big mistake."

Sara bristled at his arrogance. Who was he to decide if she was making a mistake or not? "Is that what you think we'd be doing?"

Brass pondered his reply before he opened his hands out in a helpless gesture. "I don't know. He said he'd asked you to go with him."

Sara's gaze averted. "And I said I couldn't."

"But you'd like to, right?"

"Honestly? I don't know. It's not as simple as that."

"It never is. But remember you've got a good life here. You got a good job, a new promotion you deserve, your friends and family. Me."

Sara smiled. "I know."

Brass watched her intently for a moment, and with a nod pushed to his feet. "Whatever you decide," he said, flashing her a quick smile, "you know I'll always be there for you, right? I just needed to say my piece. And now I have."

A wide smile broke across Sara's face, and standing up she walked round her desk and opened her arms out for a hug Brass was only too happy to return. "I promise to put myself and my wellbeing first, alright?" she said when they pulled apart.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said warmly, "'cause I'd hate to see you unhappy again."

Sara drove the familiar commute home with a feeling of dread and foreboding. She could only imagine how Grissom would have felt after Brass's visit. She parked on the driveway and made her way to the house. She tried the handle, but the door was locked and quickly she rummaged inside her purse for her keys and let herself in. The alarm was on, and as she disabled it she noticed his backpack wasn't where he'd left it the previous day. When she turned, she found the house eerily quiet and darkened, the blinds all down, the curtains pulled.

"Gil?" she called quietly.

Her sense of foreboding increased. What if he was already gone, she wondered? What if, after reflection, he had thought it better to leave before it got more complicated between them? Was history repeating itself, but in reverse? She couldn't really blame him if he'd gone. After all, that was exactly how she'd left him the second time.

She took her shoes off and padded her way to the lounge. He'd obviously spent the night there – the spare bed linen had been used and was now neatly folded at one end of the couch. Maybe he'd caught the early morning commuter flight back to San Diego. She looked for a note, a sign that he was still around and had maybe just popped out on an errand but there was none.

Her disappointment crushing and tasting bitter in her mouth, she headed for the bedroom. The door was ajar, and she could see that it too was in darkness. Her senses were instantly on alert as she walked in. She smelt his scent first, then heard the even rasp of his breathing and as she inched closer saw the outline of his body under the covers on the left side of the bed – his side. The relief that flooded her was immediate and all-encompassing, so profound she felt weak.

He stirred and let out a breath, and she wondered at what time he'd gone to bed for him to be still sleeping so soundly now. She watched him for a moment, her hands aching to touch him. Then she walked round to her side of the bed and noiselessly got undressed, slipped between the warm sheets and slowly snuggled up to him until he once again shifted in his sleep, instinctively draping his arm over and gathering her to him. His breath was hot on the back of her neck, redolent of the whisky he'd shared with Brass, or maybe drunk afterwards to drown his sorrow.

Still, he'd stayed. That was all that mattered.


	11. Chapter 11

Sara woke up feeling rested and refreshed. A smile forming on her face, she let out a long breath, turned over and reached out her hand. The space beside her was warm but empty. Her smile fading, she pushed up onto her elbows and pricking up her ears heard the muffled sound of the shower running. Lying back down, she gave a sigh of relief then rolled over and buried her face in his pillow. His smell was everywhere. God, how she wished she could wake up like this every day. Well, she thought with a smile, she'd rather he was in bed too, but she'd take what she could.

Should she get up too, or wait for him to come back to bed? Would he? After all, he'd slunk out of bed and into the shower without waiting for her to wake. Did he regret them making love the previous day, she wondered suddenly? Did he think things were moving too fast between them? Did he feel like she'd forced his hand? But if that was the case, why choose to go to sleep in their bed? Why not stay on the couch? And what of his chat with Brass? Had that changed their precarious status quo?

Getting up, she grabbed her robe, slipped it on and made her way to the bathroom. The door was shut, and her hand on the handle she hesitated briefly before lowering it. He hadn't locked the door and so she went in. For a moment, she stared at him through the frosted door, even contemplated joining him in the shower but then thought better of it. He didn't seem to have noticed she'd come in, so quickly she splashed a little water on her face and brushed her teeth. How long was it since they'd shared this much intimacy?

She was studying her pallid reflection in the mirror when he turned the shower off. She picked up the towel he'd prepared, sat down on the closed toilet lid and waited. He opened the stall door, startling as plastering a small on her face she handed him the towel. He hesitated briefly before taking it, then stepping out onto the mat began towelling himself dry. His mouth was set in a grim line. His eyes were flat and circled by dark rings as they avoided hers. The feeling of dread and foreboding she'd felt on her way home from work returned with a vengeance.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said at last, offering her a tight smile as turning toward the mirror he tied the towel around his midriff.

Sara's smile trembled. This wasn't the kind of greeting she'd been hoping for. Her heart felt heavy, and she struggled to find the words to ask him what was going on. She had so many questions that she didn't know which one to voice first without appearing pushy or worse desperate, and so she just watched through the mirror as he reached for a hand towel and dried his hair. Dropping the towel to the edge of the sink, he opened the wall cabinet and slowly rummaged inside.

Standing up, Sara silently reached inside a drawer and passed him the bottle of Advil. "That's all I have," she said, catching his eye in the mirror, and taking the bottle from her he gave a nod and a small smile of thanks. She watched helplessly as without wasting time he twisted the lid open, shook out a couple of tablets into the palm of his hand before popping them into his mouth. Bending over, he cupped his hand to the faucet and washed the pills down with some water.

He was looking old and tired suddenly, the worse for wear, and she wondered how much he'd really had to drink. Brass had appeared in good form when he'd turned up at the lab, so even if they'd shared a glass of whisky or two after their beers, Grissom had to have carried on drinking after Brass's departure. Could his drunken state explain why he'd ended up in their bed rather than stayed on the couch? Could it explain why he'd snuck out of bed and was acting the way he was now? Because he felt rough? Ashamed for showing so little self-control in front of her? Guilty because he'd come to a decision and was about to break her heart all over again?

"I couldn't get comfortable on the couch," he said, as if reading her mind. "I hope it wasn't too much of a shock finding me in the bed."

How could he be so far off the mark, she wondered? How could he not know that that was how she wanted to come home from work every day? With him in bed, so she could snuggle into him and forget the world out there? Feeling her eyes fill, she turned away. Damn Brass, she thought then, damn him and his good intentions. Why couldn't he have left them alone to work it out for themselves? Grissom was being so civil, so cold and distant, it was as if they were back to square one and the previous day had never happened.

"I'll just…go make us some coffee," she said, and regretted the words as soon as they'd left her lips. What if he misconstrued them and thought them critical and reproachful of the fact that he was hungover?

When Grissom joined her in the kitchen, he was looking a little hesitant, almost sheepish, but better now that he was dressed in fresh clothes. She'd got hastily dressed herself and was now sitting at the table nursing a mug of strong coffee. A matching one waited for him, and sitting down across from her he picked it up and shakily brought it to his mouth. There was only awkwardness between them now, forcing Sara to keep her distance, and that very much against her will.

"Thank you," he said, lifting the mug toward her after he'd taken a cautious sip.

She acknowledged his thanks with a nod. "How are you feeling?"

He flashed her a quick smile. "I'm fine," he said, and the sharpness and defensiveness in his tone warned her not to pry further.

Avoided looking into each other's eyes, they uneasily sipped at their coffees for a moment.

"I'm not an alcoholic, if that's what you're thinking."

Sara startled, his comment coming out of left field. "I'm not thinking that at all," she said in an incredulous whisper.

He sighed, then wiped a weary hand down his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so..." he waved his hand in front of him, searching for a word that didn't come. "I've had a rough night."

She nodded her head, but otherwise kept her face impassive and free of judgement, and bringing her mug to her lips waited for him to open up about his talk with Brass and tell her that he'd changed his mind, that Brass was right and that getting back together when everything was still so uncertain between them would be a mistake.

"The drinking's…under control," he said instead, holding her gaze steadily, and that was when she understood all that his words didn't say, that he'd had a problem in the past, a problem he was prepared to admit to her. "In fact, I hadn't got drunk in a very long time." He sighed, and she could see in his eyes the need to confess and justify himself, that he feared she'd think less of him for knowing without fully understanding. "It…helps— _helped_ take the edge off, you know?"

Again she nodded her head, then reached a shaky hand toward his on the table but he made no move to take it and so she left it there resting between them. She knew exactly what he meant about using alcohol to dull his pain, and wanted to show she wasn't judging him for it. After all, she'd sought solace in alcohol herself in the past, to almost disastrous effects, and hadn't it been for Brass's intervention, where would she be now? And then she thought back to Betty's words the previous day, when the older woman had reluctantly told her that Grissom was hurting too, and she realised that she probably didn't know the half of what he'd been through.

"Sara, those last few years have been tough on me too. Sure, I had my work and I got a lot of satisfaction out of it, but Sara, the divorce, not having you in my life anymore, that was…hard." The word died on his lips, and he swallowed. "Walking away from you was…well, it was like voluntarily cutting off a part of me. It was a physical ache that constantly gnawed at me inside."

"Then why did you?" she almost asked, but stopped herself in time. They'd gone over that already. Instead, she made herself hold his watery gaze. It was how they could move forwards that mattered, if that was what he still wanted, of course. And even though he was opening up to her, right then she wasn't so sure any more. He stood up and picking up the coffee pot on the stand refilled his mug. He turned and lifted the pot toward her, and she shook her head. She was already too much on edge as it was.

"You're right," he went on as quietly he took up his seat again. "Life at sea is lonely. I'd lay there in my cot at night and think of you." He circled an open hand over his head and in front of his eyes. "I'd close my eyes and I'd see you. I'd picture you at the lab, or out with the team having fun, or home alone and I'd watch you sleep. Well," he offered a sad smile, "I always imagined you home alone even though I feared you'd moved on and were happy with someone else."

"There was no one else," she said in a whisper. "There is no one else. I've told you before. There could never be."

"I know that now," he replied with a soft smile that for the first time lit his eyes, and reached for her hand.

She wondered whether now was the time to tell him about her own struggles, about Taylor Wynard and Basderic, but decided not to. She was surprised Brass hadn't told him, but she'd made him promise at the time and visibly he kept his word. She would tell him, but now wasn't the time. She'd made mistakes too, mistakes she regretted deeply but owning up to them now wouldn't help either of them.

"Gil?" she said softly, giving his fingers a squeeze. "Tell me. What happened last night after I left?"

His gaze averting, he gave a lengthy sigh but remained silent.

"Jim came by the lab this morning," she went on, finally acknowledging the elephant in the room.

A wry smile forming, Grissom met her gaze and nodded his head. He didn't seem surprised. "He said he would," he said, and she realised then that he'd probably feared Brass's input would have got _her_ to change her mind about them. Could that explain his caution now?

She gave an empty laugh. "The way he spoke I was half-thinking I'd be coming home to an empty house."

Grissom flicked his gaze away, but not before she saw the truth of her words reflected there. "I thought about it," he said in a sigh, looking back at her, "leaving, I mean. In fact, I almost did. It seemed so much easier." He paused, stared at her solemnly. "But I couldn't, not without explaining, not without saying goodbye."

Sara drew her hand back, raked it through her hair uneasily. "Like I did, you mean."

He sighed. "No, Sara. I didn't mean it like that at all."

The conviction in his tone, the earnest look in his eyes told her he was being honest and telling the truth. Tears welled in her eyes, and glancing away she pinched her lips to curb their flow.

"Honey, you got to stop feeling guilty for the choices you made."

She refocused watery eyes on him.

"You blame yourself. You think that if you hadn't left the first time, the second time even, we wouldn't be in the mess we are now. But I'm not sure that's true." He paused and wiped at his lips, and she waited for him to finish his train of thought, because he was right, she felt guilty. If she'd faced her problems and stayed in Vegas then, he would never have left CSI to join her and they'd be happy and probably still be working together now.

"When I left CSI," he went on, his gaze briefly taking a distant turn, "when I left Vegas to be with you, I was ready to leave. It was time I got out. I was tired, disillusioned with the job, burnt-out again. I couldn't see the good and beauty for all the evil and ugliness in the world anymore."

"You'd have taken a break," she cut in, "like you did when you went to teach at Williams."

"It wouldn't have been enough. For the first time, I truly understood why you'd left, how a prisoner of your own life you must have felt, because I was feeling it too."

And then she'd gone and left him again. A tear wound its way down her cheek, and keeping her eyes lowered she wiped at it quickly. He paused, and reaching for her hand again gave it a strong squeeze.

"Don't get me wrong, I was missing you and wanted to be with you too," he added playfully when she made herself look up, and she smiled through her pain. His face became serious again. "But it was time for me to leave Vegas and everything that went with it. I never regretted leaving, still don't regret it now. I put the place behind me, and if it weren't for you I wouldn't be looking back. I guess, what I'm trying to say is that we both made choices, Sara, choices that had consequences, and we're still making them now."

Sara gave him a slow nod of understanding. "So it _is_ goodbye," she said, wiping a knuckle to the underside of her eyes. What else did she expect? That he would just cancel his plans and stay?

He gave a slow nod of the head in reply. "I'm catching the 7.45 flight this evening."

Sara swallowed, managed to keep her tears at bay this time. This parting would be painful, they always were, but she needed to stay strong and keep sight of their long-term plans, whatever they entailed. She couldn't expect for all the problems in their relationship to be fixed after two days. Her eyes slid to the oven clock. 7.45, that gave them a few more hours until he'd need to leave. "I'll give you a ride."

"You don't need to do that."

"I want to." She gave him a tremulous smile, and he nodded his head gratefully.

"Even without Jim's input, I would still be saying goodbye," he then said. "I can't… _not_ go. We're a small crew and finding – let alone training – a replacement would take too long. And—"

"And you want to see the project through. I get that, and I'm not asking you to stay. I have no right to do that. Staying would have to be your choice."

He swallowed. "I know."

"And I get that you can't make that choice right now." She closed her eyes, releasing more tears, and nodded her head, resigned now but grateful for the peace of mind those two days talking and explaining and beginning to forgive had brought her. "What did Jim say?" she then asked as reopening her eyes she took a sip of now lukewarm coffee.

He shrugged. "Nothing I didn't already know." He gave a mirthless chuckle. "He made me feel like a teenager, the unworthy boyfriend of his precious daughter." A look of sadness flashed across his eyes and he glanced down at his mug before bringing his eyes back up to her face. "Sara—"

"Don't," she countered, and wiped at the tears running down her face. She didn't know if she was angrier at him for leaving or at Brass for sticking his nose in where it wasn't wanted. "Don't tell me you agree with him. Don't tell me that getting back together would be a mistake. How can you believe that after yesterday? What happened to 'We can make this work, I know we can'? The mistake would be not to give each other a second chance when we clearly…" Her voice caught, and too choked-up to speak she stopped.

Grissom averted his gaze and shrugged a helpless shoulder.

His caution, or was it fear and indecision, riled her. "Gil?"

Sighing, he looked back up. "I don't know, Sara. I honestly don't know anymore. The selfish part of me wants you to leave everything behind and come live with me. Leave this place, so we can start afresh somewhere new, far away from here, but I know it's not possible." He paused, made himself hold her stare. "It's not possible because your life's here, Sara."

Sara lowered eyes full of tears as he spoke.

"You've made yourself a good life here, a life you deserve and you've worked so damn hard for. And I understand that you can't give it up."

"But Gil, don't you see? I can't give you up either. I don't want to. These last twenty-four hours, they've opened my eyes to what I was missing. We have to find a way to make us work. I'll wait for you."

He smiled sadly. "I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking me to. Besides, isn't that what I've been doing all this time anyway?"

Her words gave him pause, and he watched her for a long moment without speaking. "Is this what you truly want?"

Pondering her reply, Sara thought back to Brass's words and her promise to him that she'd put herself and her wellbeing first. Grissom made her happy like no other man ever could; he completed her. How could she let him walk away again? Taking from each other what they could offer had to be better than nothing.

She flicked her eyes to his hand holding the mug and reached for it. "Yes. Yes, it is," she said with conviction. "San Diego isn't Paris, or even South America. We've learned from our mistakes. We've learned the hard way. I know I have, and I think from what you said you have too. We can make this work, I know we can."

He laughed. "You're quoting me now?"

She waved her hand between them. "Isn't _this_ what you want too?"

"Of course it is!" He looked at her beseechingly. "But I don't want you to be unhappy."

"Not having you in my life makes me unhappy."

He pushed to his feet suddenly, the chair scraping noisily on the tiled floor. Her face splitting into a wide, beatific smile at the newfound resolve she saw in his eyes, she stood up too and opened her arms out to him. Their embrace was long and heartfelt, each feeling like they'd finally reached an understanding. They didn't claim it would be easy, but they wouldn't fall into the same traps again. Grissom pulled back and smoothed her hair, and cupping her face in his hands stared at her intently. Whereas earlier his eyes had been cold, hollow and empty, now they shone with warmth, love and happiness.

"You hungry?" he asked. "You want some breakfast? I got a bunch of stuff in yesterday."

She gave him a slow shake of the head – breakfast could wait till later – and taking his hand led him to the bedroom.

They didn't have long until she'd need to drive him to the airport and she intended to make every second count.


	12. Chapter 12

"I can't wait to take you out on my boat," Grissom said out of the blue, his voice melancholy. "When you visit. Whenever that is," he added, smiling as he turned his head toward her. "I'll take you fishing."

"Fishing, huh?" The wide smile dancing across her lips belied the bored tone in her voice.

Laughing, he nodded his head vigorously. "You'll love it."

And as she stared at him, at the sparkle in his eyes, she thought that she probably would. Just to spend a little time with him, alone, away from it all. They both knew it wouldn't be for some time – three months at the very least – but that couldn't be helped. She told him she'd wait, and she would. They both would. She'd already waited over two years and she could—would wait another three months. It would take patience and compromise for them to make their relationship work, and honesty if they weren't to fall in the same traps as before.

"I'll be there when you dock," she said, her smile tender now. "Providing you keep in touch and let me know when exactly that is."

His face lit up suddenly. "You try and stop me. Even if I have to toss a bottle out to sea."

She pulled a face. "I was kind of hoping you'd use more conventional methods, but I'll take what I can get."

Laughing he tightened his hold around her shoulder then pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and cherishing this last moment of togetherness before he'd need to leave she snuggled against him. She'd take some time off, a couple of weeks maybe, more if the lab could cope. She hadn't taken any proper leave in more than a year, and she was already looking forward to spending that time with him. She felt more at peace and contented now than she had in the last few years. Certainly not since the breakup and subsequent divorce, but even long before that when resentment had begun to set in and sour their relationship.

The smile lingering on her face, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine him sailing the seven seas. It was so far removed from his past life in Vegas, or even from the life she'd known with him when they lived abroad, that she had a hard time picturing it. "Is it big?" she asked after a while.

He shifted under her, and she reopened her eyes. The raised brow and amused twitch of his lips told her in no uncertain terms where his mind had taken him.

"Your boat," she qualified, laughing. "I'm talking of your boat. I'm trying to picture it, and you in it. You know, so that when my thoughts wander and I think of you I have this clear picture in my mind. So, how big is it?"

His smile softened. His gaze became distant as he turned it up to the ceiling. "Not very. Not really." He chuckled to himself. "But it's fast and reliable. You've seen Jaws, right?"

A frown on her face, Sara pushed up on an elbow. "The film?"

He looked over at her and nodded. "Well, my boat's a little like that."

Sara pinched her lips to stifle her smile. "The boat that's not nearly big enough?"

He laughed. "Which is precisely why I took the condo. So that when I'm in town I can stretch out and have a proper night's sleep." He sighed, then reached a hand out to brush unruly hair from her face. "It's the best thing, though, Sara. Going out to sea. Being at sea. I love it. Despite all its dangers, it's just so…freeing." He paused and stared at her intently. "If I were a younger man, I'd get into sailing – proper sailing. Like, on a sailboat." He seemed about to say more, but stopped himself.

"What?" she prompted, smiling softly.

Looking sheepish, he shrugged his shoulder. "Sometimes, I close my eyes and imagine us on that sailboat that doesn't exist, hopping from port-to-port and just…happy."

Taken aback by the candour of his words, Sara could only stare at him speechless. It really moved her that all this time, even though they were divorced and with presumably no chances of getting back together, he'd been thinking of _them_ as a couple.

"I don't think one is ever too old to learn," she mused, holding his gaze earnestly. "If that's what makes you happy, you should go for it."

Grissom's face lit up with surprise. "Yeah?"

Smiling softly, she nodded her head. He folded his arm under his head and settled his eyes on a point on the ceiling. He didn't speak for some time, but when he did his voice was soft, introspective, but full of passion.

"The feelings you get, the freedom that comes with just leaving land, with heading out to the unknown…" he began and didn't stop.

Once again his enthusiasm was contagious, his descriptions vivid, and as she listened to him talk Sara's gaze became distant, her smile fond, wistful, almost envious. She'd loved her time on the Sea Sheppard, even if occasional rough seas and her broken heart had made for a tough trip. She was glad he wasn't censoring himself to spare her feelings. He'd made himself a new life, one that made him happy, one she couldn't wait to be a part of.

All too soon Grissom fell silent, seemingly getting lost in his own thoughts. And she was content to let him. Then he shifted on the bed and sighed. And she knew he'd looked at the bedside clock and that it was time they got up and he got ready and packed – which she guessed wouldn't take long. She wouldn't make it hard for him; it wouldn't be fair, and strangely enough she felt at peace with the situation.

"I'll make us some breakfast," she said, getting out of bed and slipping on her robe. "You need to eat something before you leave and I'm hungry."

Grissom opened his mouth to argue, but then simply nodded his head and got up too. He picked up his underwear off the floor and gave her a smile. "I got a bunch of stuff in yesterday when you were sleeping," he said, slipping his boxers on.

Sara tied the sash of her robe around her waist. "You took the car?"

He paused. "You mind?"

She smiled. "Not at all."

He held her gaze briefly before reaching for the rest of his clothes and Sara watched with a heavy heart as he got dressed before she headed to the kitchen. On the way, she opened all the curtains and blinds and let some welcome sunshine in. She was perusing the extensive content of the fridge when he joined her.

"This is more than getting a bunch of stuff in," she said when he reached past her for the carton of juice.

"I got carried away." He shrugged. "I wish we'd had more time, that's all."

"Me too," she said, turning toward him.

Her smile trembled, and she almost asked him what stopped him from staying another day in Vegas with her, but she'd promise herself she wouldn't make any demands or put pressure on him and so she didn't. He couldn't stay, and she couldn't go with him, period. They'd find a way, even if it took time.

They put together a quick seafood stir-fry and prepared two lots of packed lunches to take with them. They ate quickly and mostly in silence. When he wasn't glancing at the oven clock, she'd catch him watching her, and she'd give him a smile he would invariably return. She'd wonder at his thoughts then, at whether he was checking the time because he was eager to go and didn't want to miss his flight, or because he didn't want to leave but had to. She hoped for the latter.

She thought about telling him her last secret, the one that kept her from being truly happy. But she was so ashamed of how she'd acted then, so scared of how he would react, that the words didn't come. Would he feel hurt and angry? Betrayed even? God knows she would feel all these things if the roles were reversed.

Yes, she'd been all over the place emotionally and she'd been used, tricked and duped, but it still didn't excuse her behaviour, her weakness, how easily she'd fallen into Basderic's trap. She'd sought human contact in the wrong place, from the wrong man, and had paid a hefty price for it. Was still paying that price now, or else why feel so wretched just thinking of it?

"You go get ready," he said, pushing to his feet and gathering their plates when they'd finished, "while I clear up here."

Sara checked the time, nodded her head. She was turning to leave when the doorbell rang. Startling, she looked over at Grissom, who a smile slowly spreading across his face moved to get the door.

"Do you know who it is?" she asked, frowning in puzzlement as she followed him through to the lounge.

"Maybe," he replied, his expression playful, almost giddy, and Sara's frowned deepened.

Grissom looked through the peephole and then enthusiastically opened the door to a black-leather-clad and helmeted courier.

"Mr Grissom?"

"That's me," Grissom said brightly, glancing over his shoulder and winking at Sara.

Sara watched with growing bewilderment as Grissom signed his name to a proffered tablet before taking receipt of a small, flat package. Had he purchased something online and asked for it to be delivered there before he left? If that was the case, he was cutting it fine.

Grissom thanked the guy and closed the door. Smiling widely, he turned back to Sara. "It's for you," he said, handing her the packet.

Her expression went from confusion to surprise and then back again. "But…I'm not expecting anything."

He shrugged, then placed the packet in her hands. "Go on, open it."

After a moment's pause, Sara went to sit on the couch and with shaky hands did as bid. She pulled the cardboard tab off to open the box, took out a thin, long rectangular item wrapped in several layers of tissue paper and looked up to Grissom with surprise.

Grissom made a pout. "I agree," he said with mock irritation. "They could have boxed it up."

Sara stared at him with disbelief, and he gave her an encouraging nod of the head. Turning her attention back to the present – was that what it was? – she carefully unwrapped each layer of tissue paper until she uncovered her teardrop pendant and chain. Lost for words, she raised astonished eyes to him.

"I had it fixed for you," he said, matter-of-fact, and her look of surprise finally morphed into a wide grin. "Dropped it off yesterday when I went grocery shopping."

She hadn't even realised it had gone missing from the table. She felt tears of happiness rise suddenly, but she held on to them. Grissom gently prised the pendant out of her hands and sitting down on the couch next to her motioned for her to turn so that she had her back to him. Delicately, he moved her hair out of the way, then clasped the pendant shut around her neck. Bringing a trembling hand to her chest, Sara turned toward him.

"The guy did a good job," he said. "It's as good as new."

Holding the pendant in place, Sara smiled then moved for a kiss on the lips. "Thank you," she said, pulling back.

Smiling, Grissom cupped his hand to her face before she could move back completely, and after watching her intently for a few seconds closed the distance for another kiss, longer, deeper and filled with passion and resolve. "Three and a half months," he said. "Four at the most, and I'll be back. And we'll move forward then, I promise."

Her face beaming with love and pleasure alike, she gave a vigorous nod. "I know, and I can't wait."

Some twenty minutes later they were on the road, and another twenty minutes after that stuck in traffic a mile or so away from the airport. Sara tuned the car radio to a local station which promptly informed them of a road traffic accident which had shut two lanes of the I-15 northbound near the exit to McCarran airport. Emergency services were on the scene. Traffic was moving at a crawl, there was nowhere for them to get off, and frustrated by their slow progress Sara banged her hands on the steering wheel.

"We still got plenty of time," he said. "Relax."

Sara pulled a face, and he laughed. Turning her attention back to the car in front, she craned her neck to see if traffic was moving anywhere. It wasn't. Grissom leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. He looked serene, if a little tired, but quite untroubled by the situation, and she wondered when he'd learned to be like that.

Restless, she switched radio stations until she got one that was playing music, turned the sound right down. Being stuck in traffic didn't help, but she knew her edginess didn't stem from that. She wasn't looking forward to saying goodbye, she'd never been good at it, neither of them was, could never find the words to express how they felt, but she hoped that this time wouldn't be as heart-wrenching as it was at the start of their long-distance relationship or as awkward as it became toward the end.

She realised then that she couldn't let him leave without telling him the truth. How could they start afresh with that time bomb ticking over their heads? She fingered the teardrop pendant around her neck, took strength from it. There was her chance to confess all, and she took it.

"Gil, before you leave," she said, turning toward him, "There's something I need to tell you."

Frowning, he opened his eyes, raised his head from the headrest to look at her.

She gave him a tentative smile. "I know I should have told you at the first opportunity, but well…it never seemed like the right time." Pausing, she flicked her eyes away then back to his face. "If it's going to work between us this time round, we need to make some changes, right?"

Grissom's gaze narrowed imperceptibly. With fear maybe?

"There can't be any doubts or secrets," she went on, before he could respond. "We need to be totally honest with each other. We can't be second-guessing the other like we did before." She paused, then sighed and went for broke. "After we broke up I hit rock bottom…"

Pain filled Grissom's features. "Sara—"

She raised her hand toward him, indicating that he should let her finish. "…and I was vulnerable. There was this guy, this scumbag sociopath I was watching that was stalking Edie, you know, the waitress from Frank's Diner? I helped her get a restraining order against him."

Frowning, Grissom shrugged that he didn't remember.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter. Edie died, she was killed at the diner, murdered, and I was convinced he'd done it. Killed her. Turned out he didn't. Anyways, a few months later he went after me—framed me for a murder he committed."

Grissom nodded his head. "Sara—"

"No, let me finish. I need to say this."

He sighed and stared at her, then finally, reluctantly, nodded his head before flicking his eyes to the still stationary traffic ahead.

Despite how difficult it was, Sara made herself continue. "The thing is," she went on hesitantly, "a couple of weeks prior to that I'd kissed the guy. The guy he killed. Taylor Wynard was his name. He was someone I'd met at a bar. I thought it was fortuitous, but I was being set up."

Grissom kept his gaze looking forward.

"I was drinking and…" She sighed. "I'm not trying to make excuses, but it happened. It was nothing. It meant nothing. His attention was flattering and I was feeling low…it was a mistake, and I put a stop to it straightaway."

Grissom swallowed, turned his head toward her. "Sara, I don't need you to tell me this."

"You do."

"No, I don't. Sara, I already know about Basderic, and Wynard."

Sara's eyes filled. "You do?" she asked with disbelief.

Again he swallowed and nodded his head.

Refocusing on the car in front, Sara gave a wry smile. "Jim told you."

"No, he didn't." She looked over at him sharply, and he sighed. "Not at first anyway."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then how did you find out? Not Greg or Nick…Hodges?"

He shook his head. "This guy, Basderic, he emailed me the picture of you and Wynard."

Sara felt sick at the thought.

"The email came from your account so I opened it."

"He hacked into it."

"I know. I only got the email once everything was over. Several weeks had passed by then. I called Brass, and he told me what had happened, that the guy was behind bars already, that you were slowly getting over it. I didn't want to make it worse for you, so I told him to keep schtum and I stayed away."

Sara wiped the tears from her eyes.

"As far as I'm concerned it's water under the bridge, Sara," he said, almost impatiently. "We both made mistakes, we've established that. But we're starting afresh, alright? Clean slate. So we forget about it. All of it."

She gave a nervous laugh. "Just like that?"

He gave her a slow nod of the head. "Just like that. Don't you think we've already wasted enough time?"

Sara took in a breath she let out slowly. Could it be that easy, she wondered then? Could they just draw a line under the whole thing and start again?

The car behind sounded its horn, and startling Sara refocused on the road and the moving traffic ahead. Quickly, she put the Prius in drive and moved forward a hundred yards or so before stopping again and checking the time on the dash clock.

"Gil, I don't know if we're going to make it," she said, tensely.

Grissom whipped his head round in shock.

The confusion in his eyes gave her pause. "Your flight?"

His expression softened, then he smiled and shook his head. "I thought you meant..." His smile widened. "We'll be fine," he said with certainty, and Sara wanted to believe that his words encompassed a lot more than just getting to the airport in time. "We're almost there now; I can see the lights of the emergency vehicles. Besides, I don't have any luggage to check in. You can just drop me off outside departures, and I'll go straight through."

Sara swallowed her disappointment. "I was hoping to park and come in with you." She kept her gaze looking straight ahead to the car in front so he wouldn't notice her growing emotion.

Grissom reached his hand to her thigh, gave it a warm pat. "It'll fly by," he said, softly. "You mark my words."

Blinking, she nodded her head, but still didn't look at him.

"Look at me, Sara," he bid quietly. His hand moved to her chin, gently coaxing her face round toward him. She gave him a watery smile, and he swallowed. "I'm sorry I can't stay any longer," he said. "I know there's still a lot we've got to deal with. If I could, I would but—"

She reached out her hand to cover his mouth, cutting his words short. "No. No ifs or buts, we've agreed. This is the situation for the time being, and I'm happy with it. I'm just…sad." Her eyes filled again and she wiped at them, then smiled through her tears at the idiocy of what she'd just said. "I'm going to miss you."

Grissom's smile was fond and tender. "And I'll miss you."

The line of traffic moved again, and they fell silent as finally they passed the crash site. As soon as she could Sara put her foot down the rest of the way, eventually pulling up outside departures. There, a traffic agent motioned for her to move on. She ignored him. Grissom opened the car door and grabbed his backpack from the backseat. Pausing, he turned toward her, and their lips met in a soft, quick kiss.

"I'll call you when I get there," he said, getting out of the car.

"I'm counting on it."

He shouldered his backpack, then holding the car door open leaned in. "I love you," he said in a whisper.

Sara gave him a shaky smile. He hesitated briefly, then raised his hand in an uncertain goodbye and shut the door. Quickly, before he could be swallowed by the crowds milling around, Sara undid her seatbelt and got out of the car.

"Gil," she called, breathless as she ran around the hood.

He stopped, then turned and a smile breaking opened his arms out to her. The crowds, the noise of traffic and soaring aeroplanes, the announcements playing over the PA system, it all receded into the background, and for a brief moment it was just the two of them in each other's arms, before grudgingly she made herself pull back.

"Stay safe," she said, brushing her hands to his face.

He cracked a smile. "You too."

She nodded, swallowed the lump in her throat and then glancing all around them uncertainly took a step back from him. "I'll see you soon."

With a hard swallow he nodded his head, then forced another smile before he turned his back and made his way inside the terminal through the crowd. And as she watched him go, Sara wished she could go with him. The traffic agent spoke to her, motioned for her to move the car before he gave her a ticket, and refocusing she turned and nodded her head. Then she got back into the car, drove to the lab on autopilot and once there went through the motions dutifully.

Three months – he said it would fly by.

She wasn't so sure.


	13. Chapter 13

Sara's thoughts as she got shift ready that night kept drifting back to Grissom and the expedition he was getting ready for, to the passion and enthusiasm in his voice as he talked about going out to sea and helping preserve marine life. He told Heather that Sara had given him back his faith in humanity and it sounded like the ocean had given him back his love for it. She loved that he was so excited and passionate about his work. When was the last time she'd felt like that, she wondered? She still enjoyed being a CSI, but she couldn't deny that the spark had gone. Would it get worse now that she was management and mostly stuck behind a desk?

Without thinking, she opened a new tab on her laptop, typed Oceanpeace in the browser and started reading all about the organisation, following the many links to various pages and reading on. One link led to another and eventually she got to the page detailing the expedition to the Island of Palau in the Philippines. In the middle of the page was a picture of the ship Grissom was crew on and for the first time she clearly could see him aboard the ship. An ad to the left of the page alerted her to the fact that volunteers were needed, echoing Grissom's words the previous day. She moved the cursor, clicked on the link and let her thoughts wander.

"Sara?"

Sara looked up with a start as Greg came into her office, and flashed a quick smile. "Hey," she greeted, sheepish to have been caught daydreaming. Flicking her eyes to the laptop, she swiftly closed down the Oceanpeace page. "You okay?"

Greg registered a look of surprise. "Am I okay? Sure I'm okay. Are you?"

Sara frowned.

"Have you seen what time it is?"

Sara checked the time on the laptop clock. Shift had started some half-hour ago, and she'd not even realised. "Shit. Sorry," she said, stifling a smile, "I was..." She gave her head a shake, refocusing, and Greg a bright smile. "Nothing's come in as yet. So…" she shrugged, "You just work on your caseloads."

"Gee, you don't say," he deadpanned, then paused and his gaze narrowing watched her closely. "You're okay?"

Sara's expression softened. "I'm fine. I just got…a little side-tracked, that's all."

"Side-tracked, huh?"

Holding his gaze, she gave him a nod. "Doing…research." Well, that wasn't a lie.

"Anything I can help you with?"

"No, you're good. But thanks." She paused, then picked up the top file on her pile and opened it. "Paperwork, you know? There's no end to it."

Greg glanced over his shoulder toward the open door, then took a seat across from her. He was looking conflicted. "Sara, this new promotion…"

"So, how is it working out with Yeager?" she asked, cutting in before he could touch on a sore point.

Greg startled. "Fine. No problems. I mean, it's only his second shift…but so far, so good. He's fitting right in. It's not like we haven't worked with him before."

Sara nodded. "Good," she said, and pretended to turn her attention back to the file. Her cell chimed, and she reached for it on the desk, smiled when she saw the text was from Grissom and then put it down again.

"Grissom got back to San Diego alright?"

"Sounds like it," she replied, realising too late that she'd got tricked.

"Sara?"

She gave a long sigh, then checked the door to make sure no one nearby could overhear them and finally met Greg's gaze dead on. "Please, don't make a big deal out of it."

"Out of what?" he asked, feigning innocence.

She shrugged. "We're just talking, alright? Working out our differences."

"Is that what you want? To work out your differences?"

Her lips pulled into a soft smile. "Yeah, it is."

Greg nodded, averted his gaze to the floor.

"Greg, you know how unhappy I've been these last two years."

Greg looked up sharply. "Because of him."

"No, it was because of all our unresolved issues." She shrugged again, gave him a trembling smile. "You know I haven't been able to move on, and neither has he. We just want to put it all behind us and see what happens."

Greg took in a long breath he let out slowly. He seemed to want to say more but he just nodded his head and she was grateful he wasn't voicing his misgivings. He gave her an uncertain smile before pushing to his feet. "I care about you, that's all. I want you to be…happy."

"I know, Greg. And that's what I want too."

Her comment gave him pause. "What makes you think it'll be different this time round?"

"I'd like to think we've both learned from our mistakes." She paused, held his gaze levelly and hoped that in time he would understand her motivations. "Greg, I have to do this," she quietly insisted. "Don't worry about me. I know what I'm doing."

His stare was sad and disconcerting. "Yeah, and that's precisely what I'm worried about."

Days passed, shifts came and went, and Sara showed that she had all the traits to make a good supervisor. She worked long hours, kept on top of her paperwork and even though she was the boss now tried to maintain the same good working relationship she'd always enjoyed with her colleagues – CSIs or lab techs. Her move to supervisor seemed seamless and accepted without question by everyone. Her colleagues respected her and were prepared to go the extra mile, just like they did for DB and Catherine, and Grissom before them. Ecklie was supportive and still on the quest for a new CSI, a permanent replacement for the position Yeager was currently filling.

But her heart wasn't in it, her mind either. They were with Grissom.

The two of them spoke every day on the phone, generally in the early evening before her shift started and after his had finished **.** Being in the same time zone certainly simplified matters a lot. He'd tell her about his day, and she found little to tell him about her nights. There would still be some awkward pauses and silences but they reinforced the fact that she'd made the right decision.

Basderic wasn't mentioned again, and Sara couldn't help wondering whether maybe they'd swept the issue under the carpet too quickly. Could they simply forget about it all and start afresh as he believed they could? And what should she make of the fact that all this time he'd known about it and kept quiet? Could seeing the picture of her in Wynard's arms have precipitated his asking for a divorce? His taking to drinking to dull the pain and heartbreak she'd caused?

Catherine finally joined the team, allowing for a regular schedule for everyone. There as well, the transition was smooth and it was almost as if she'd never left the lab. So far, Catherine and Lindsey were managing to keep to a professional relationship at work, but Sara was careful to avoid pairing them together. With Catherine came stability, a sense of security and cohesion Sara was wary of shattering, as she knew she soon would. It would only be temporary though, and only if Catherine and Conrad agreed to her plans, of course.

But her mind was made up. She had nothing to prove to anyone, let alone herself. She knew she could do the job, but more importantly she was confident that she'd done enough and that her team would cope without her. She hoped that when she explained her plans they would understand and allow her the time off to start rebuilding the foundations of her love with Grissom. They'd been speaking on the phone early on after his departure when she'd realised that she had no choice but to put her love for him ahead of her work if she wanted their relationship to succeed. That despite all their best efforts and intentions that wouldn't happen otherwise.

So she was making the first move.

She told her mother about her plans, asked how she would feel if she didn't visit for three months. She explained about wanting―no, needing—Grissom back in her life and that she needed to take steps to make their relationship work, and Laura surprised her by telling her to go for it, that true love was a rare thing. She waited until Catherine had settled in to finally take the plunge and decide to broach the subject with her. It all came down to whether she agreed or not, and Sara knew it wasn't a done-deal.

She was in her office signing off on case files when she heard Catherine's and Lindsey's voices approaching. Looking up she put her pen down, an expectant smile on her lips when Catherine stopped at the open door, Lindsey in her wake.

"Sara, you 911 me?"

Catherine's turn of phrase made her smile. "Yeah, sorry. I wanted to speak to you before you left."

Catherine glanced at Lindsey. "Nothing bad, I hope."

Sara's smile stiffened somewhat and her gaze flicked over to Lindsey too.

"We're meeting mom and the girls for breakfast before school," Catherine explained.

"I won't keep you long, I promise."

"Sure." This time Catherine shared a longer look with her daughter, and Lindsey nodded her head that she understood.

"I'll wait for you in the lot," she said.

Catherine smiled her thanks, and then fully entering the office, "You want to come with us?"

Sara shook her head. "I'd love to but I can't. I've got a meeting with Conrad in an hour. Give Lily my love, will you? And the girls."

"I will." Catherine's smile faded, as her expression turned business-like. "So, what can I do for you?"

Sara moved to close the door, then invited Catherine to sit down.

"You okay?" Catherine asked, frowning with concern as she did as bid.

"Sure," Sara said, and choosing to sit in the second visitors' chair looked Catherine straight in the eye. "How are you settling in?" she asked.

Catherine laughed. "Isn't it a little early for my appraisal?"

Sara averted her gaze uncomfortably.

"Sara, out with it, will you? What's this meeting about? Someone complained about me already?"

"No. No, nothing like that." She sighed. "I've a favour to ask. Quite a big one actually, and I'm hoping you'll say yes."

Catherine's brow furrowed. "Go on."

"I was wondering…how you'd feel about looking after the lab for me."

"Looking after the lab? What, like…as director?"

Sara nodded.

"This isn't hypothetically, is it?"

"No."

Catherine pondered Sara's request, and Sara took heart from the fact that her reply wasn't an outright 'No'. "How long for?"

"A few weeks."

Catherine's expression turned concerned. "Why? What's happened? Is everything okay with you? Health-wise, I mean."

"Everything's fine. Better than fine actually." She gave Catherine a smile. "I…was thinking, well, no, huh, providing you say yes and the details get finalised in time, I _would_ go on a trip."

"You're taking a vacation?" Catherine exclaimed, the surprise evident in her tone.

"I guess you could call it a vacation. I mean, as I said all the details aren't finalised yet but…well, basically it won't happen unless you agree to step into my shoes."

Catherine once again considered the idea. "What's Conrad saying?"

Sara winced. "Well, I haven't approached him yet. He's next on my list. I was waiting until I'd asked you."

"How do you know Conrad will go for it?"

"I won't give him the choice. And if he tells me he can't keep the position open for when I get back then I'll…I'll just resign."

Catherine's brow rose. "I'm sure it won't come to that. But after what happened last time, I don't know if he'd trust me to do a good job―running the lab, I mean."

"Oh, Catherine, you know that's not true."

Catherine sighed. "But even if he agreed…I don't know. I mean, I know I can do the job, but I've a lot on my plate right now. What, with the girls and…" Sara's expression became pleading and Catherine stopped in her tracks. "You said a few weeks. How long are we talking about exactly?"

Sara winced. "Three months? Give or take."

Catherine's eyes widened. "Three months?"

Sara nodded. "Starting the week after next."

"The week after next?" Catherine scoffed. "Well, when you move, you do it quickly." She paused, stared at Sara intently before frowning and flicking her eyes the length of Sara's body. "Your trip," she said. "It's not a medical emergency, is it?"

Sara registered a look of surprise.

"I mean, you're getting to that age, and God knows the menopause can be a bitch."

Sara gave a wry smile, then at a loss as to how to retort spread her hands out helplessly. "It's not a medical emergency." With a sigh, she surrendered to the inevitable. She'd have to tell her the truth; there was no two ways about it. "I've signed up to go on a three-month expedition with Oceanpeace."

"Oceanpeace?" Catherine frowned. "But isn't that the organisation Grissom works for?"

Smiling softly, Sara nodded her head.

"Sara?" Catherine prompted when Sara faltered.

"Well, Grissom and I have been…talking and…"

Catherine's smile was perceptive. "Talking, huh?"

Sara's smile widened, and she shrugged her shoulders in a 'Do I need to spell it out?' way.

"Oh, my God," Catherine exclaimed. "You and Gil are back together?"

Sara gave the closed door a fearful glance. "We're…well, we're going to give it another go, yes."

"Alleluia. Pardon my French but it's about time you two got your shit together."

Sara laughed. "So, what do you say?"

"Grissom knows?"

Sara shook her head. "They're rushing the paperwork through, but it might not be enough, and they can't delay the expedition." She shrugged. "It might be too late. In which case I'm not going anywhere and this is all for nothing."

Catherine gave a bright smile. "Of course I'll do it. Provided Conrad agrees, I'm in."

A wide smile spread across Sara's face. "You sure?"

"Absolutely. Who am I to stand in the way of true love?"

"Thank you." Sara pushed to her feet. Catherine followed suit, and the two women hugged warmly. "You don't know how much this means to me," she said, her eyes shining with emotion when they pulled back from each other.

Catherine gave Sara's arm a warm stroke. "Oh, I think I do," she replied, her expression fond and compassionate.

Sara nodded her head. "Now I've got to convince Conrad."

"He's going to say yes. What choice does he have?"

Sara's smile returned. "I hope so."

That evening as she and Grissom spoke on the phone Sara found it hard to contain her joy and keep her plans a secret. She couldn't wait to see his face when she turned up in San Diego. She'd have to probe him carefully about his plans and time it right, or it would all backfire on her. She'd decided to leave Vegas a couple of days before the start of the expedition to give them time to talk and get used to the idea before they'd set sail across the Pacific. She hoped he would be happy to see her and happy too at the prospect of spending three months working together on the ship. She knew it would make or break them, and even though she favoured the former she feared she'd acted too impulsively and made a mistake. What if he'd been looking forward to this time apart to truly take stock of their situation?

"This expedition will be my last," Grissom said, out of the blue after they'd been talking for a while, and Sara straightened up on the couch.

"Are you sure?" she asked with disbelief. "I mean, I know how much you love it."

"Oh, I'm not giving up my work with Oceanpeace altogether. I'm just going to scale down the long-distance trips. I'm getting too old for them anyway, and there are enough local issues to keep me more than busy. That way we can work out a better, more regular visiting schedule."

So, he was keeping to his word, she thought, and making changes already. "You sound like a father fighting for visiting rights."

He laughed. "Maybe we could alternate visiting each other every other week. That way, we get the best of both worlds. So, huh, what do you think?" he asked when Sara didn't immediately reply.

The smile on her lips was soft and tender. "Sounds good. Really good, in fact. I can't wait."

"Me either," he said after a beat. "These long months apart are going to be agony."

His words warmed her heart. "What happened to…It'll fly by?"

"I was kidding myself," he replied quietly, and sighed. "Did I tell you that we've had to push back our departure date?"

She paused, played it cool. "No, you didn't."

"We're leaving a week on Monday now to accommodate a new crewmate. Some guy they're fast tracking."

"You almost sound annoyed," she said, laughing. "That's good, right? I thought you were desperate for volunteers."

"Oh, we are. It's just that if we're late leaving, then we'll be late coming back." He paused. "On the plus side, it'll give me more time to track that trawler that's illegally laid lobster traps down in the protected waters just north from here."

"Are you working alongside the coastguards?"

He paused. "Mostly."

She gave a wry smile. "Be careful," she told him.

"I always am," he said, his tone solemn, and paused. "Sara?"

She hummed her reply.

"Just in case I forget to tell you before I leave. I love you."

Hearing him profess his love like that, unprompted and with so much tenderness, set her heart aflutter.

Could it really be this easy, she asked herself again? Could they just turn the page and start again?

Only time would tell, but she'd certainly give it her best shot.

* * *

The end.

* * *

A/N: Epilogue to follow soon. Thanks for reading!


	14. Epilogue

Epilogue.

* * *

"Where to?" the driver asked as he stowed Sara's bags in the trunk of his taxicab.

Sara pulled Grissom's business card from her pocket and read the address he'd handwritten on the back of it. "2819 Upshur Street?"

"Hop in," the driver replied with a smile. "It's not far."

He opened the door for Sara, and she got in. Jogging over to the car's other side, he climbed behind the wheel and started up his engine, then held his arm out through the open window and filtered into the traffic headed out of San Diego airport. Sara opened the window, breathed in the sea air. The airport was situated near the bay, and as the plane had come in to land she'd been able to admire the breath-taking views of the bay itself, but also of the skyscrapers of downtown San Diego and Pecto Park, the home of the San Diego Padres.

Now all she could see as she stared at the passing scenery were rows upon rows of shimmering white yachts and tall masts bobbing in the many harbours against a backdrop of clear blue sky. No wonder Grissom dreamed of taking up sailing. She'd been to San Diego once before, when she'd been a student at Berkeley, and the place hadn't lost any of its charm and beauty. Always seventy degrees, she remembered her friend telling her, winter, summer, it's always seventy degrees. And she could well believe it. She remembered eating the best fish tacos she'd ever tasted there too. Maybe Grissom knew a good place for them to eat out that night. She smiled brightly, as her stomach grumbled at the thought.

Her mind drifted to Nick, and she wondered whether there'd be time to catch up with him before she and Grissom were due to set off. She and Nick hadn't spoken in a while, and she wished she had more time. Maybe when they got back from their trip, she thought then. For now, she was eager to see where Grissom lived, how he lived. They'd talked on the phone the previous evening, and he'd mentioned going to South La Jolla State Marine Reserve to test pollution levels.

She checked her watch, doubting that he'd be back already. She'd go to his apartment first, drop off her bags if he wasn't there, and then head to the harbour, take a walk and hope for the best. Of course, she could always call him on his cell, find out his exact whereabouts if he was within range, but she didn't want to tip him off and spoil the surprise. Just to see the look on his face when he saw her. Her smile broadened again. God, she couldn't wait. Well, that was assuming he was pleased to see her of course.

"You're here on pleasure, I can tell," the driver said, drawing her out of her thoughts. "You have that dreamy look about your face."

Sara met his gaze through the rear view mirror. "I am," she replied, her lips once again pulling into a wide, giddy smile.

"You're here on vacation?"

"You can say that. I'm...meeting my husband actually." She frowned—husband? Where had that come from? When did she start thinking of Grissom as her husband again, she wondered? And then, had she ever stopped? She thought about amending her statement, but then decided not to. Who cared about a title? What mattered was that they were back together. "We're going on three-month expedition with Oceanpeace."

The driver gave a nod. "I heard of them. They're always on the news. They do good work." He paused, and thinking it the end of his polite chitchat Sara turned her attention back to the scenery. "So, a husband and wife team, huh?" he added after a while. "In my experience it's never good to mix business with pleasure."

She flicked her eyes to the rear view mirror. "It works for us."

The driver nodded again, then refocused on the road and Sara turned her gaze back to her surroundings. They'd turned off the harbour road and were now headed inland. Soon, the driver slowed down, then stopped outside a red metal gate with an electronic pad and CCTV camera, allowing access to the complex. The place didn't look cheap, and Sara wondered how Grissom could afford it. Oceanpeace was a great organisation, which did fantastic work, but as a charity-based trust it couldn't afford to pay its staff a lot and heavily relied on volunteers.

She hesitated briefly before reaching into her messenger bag for her money purse and paying her fare. "You sure this is the right address?"

The driver laughed. "Certain."

She glanced at the building. "Could you…wait for me?" she then asked. "I won't be long. I just want to drop off my bags."

The driver glanced at the bundle of bills in his hand and nodded his head. "Alright. You got ten minutes."

"Thank you."

Sara got out of the car, took her bags from the driver and slipping her sunglasses to the top of her head stared up at the apartment complex apprehensively. It was three-story high, with an open parking garage where the ground floor should be. Shouldering her overnight bag, she pulled the handle up on her case and wheeled it down a pedestrian entranceway, following the signs to the apartment complex management office. She looked around uncertainly before ringing the bell for the super.

The door opened a crack. "Yes?"

Sara fixed the super with a smile, once again taking the business card out of her jacket pocket and reading from it. "I'm…looking for Apartment 16. I'm visiting my…" Again, she found herself on the verge of calling Grissom her husband, "Grissom—Gil Grissom lives there."

"And you are?"

"His…" She was about to say wife when she paused, then thought of saying ex-wife but worried that might not open her many doors. So instead she said, "I'm Sara. Sara Sidle."

The super raised his eyebrows, then smiled and gave her the once-over. "He's not home."

"I thought as much," she said, swallowing back her disappointment. "I was wondering if you could let me into his apartment."

The man stared at her suspiciously. "Is he expecting you? 'Cause he didn't say anything to me and we have strict rules about visitors."

"He's not expecting me, no. This is a surprise visit." She glanced at the bags by her feet. "I just want to drop these off, if it's alright with you."

The super hesitated, then ran his eyes the length of her one more time and with a relenting sigh went back inside before returning with two keys on a ring. He held them out to Sara, but before she could make a grab for them closed his hand around them. "The apartment's on the first floor," he said, and indicated right. "Stairs are this way; just follow the signs."

Reluctantly he opened his hand, and smiling her thanks Sara took the keys from him.

The super motioned to her luggage. "You want a hand with these?"

"I'm fine, but thank you."

The super gave a nod. "This time of day," he said, as slipping her sunglasses back on she turned to leave, "He's either down at the harbour or still at sea."

Sara turned back to him and smiled. "I know. I'm headed there next."

"You know your way around?"

Her brow arching, Sara paused and gave him a smile. "Actually, I don't."

"Taxi's still waiting?"

Frowning, she nodded her reply.

"Tell the driver to try Shetland Island Drive. I know he docks his boat there sometimes."

Sara's face lit up. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Just don't forget to drop the keys off. And welcome to San Diego."

The apartment was small but neat and tidy, and beautifully furnished, and Sara knew Grissom hadn't had a hand in that. Maritime artwork adorned the lightly-painted walls, and again she wondered how he'd come to live there. Still, his things were everywhere; shoes and coats on a rack by the door, books and CDs on shelves, as well as files and photos and paperwork carefully piled on the glass-topped coffee table, yesterday's newspaper on the kitchen counter nearby. Two doors, both closed, led off the main room, and Sara guessed at a bedroom and bathroom.

She'd loved to have a look into the bedroom, but worried that the taxi driver would leave without her if she took too long she didn't venture further and simply dumped her luggage by the front door, locked the place up after her and quickly retraced her steps back to the super. The taxi driver was still there, listening to a sports commentary on the radio as he waited. She smiled her thanks to him, and with a nod he switched the radio off and started the car back up.

"Where to?" he asked again.

"The harbour? Shetland Island Drive?"

"Vámonos."

As soon as she could see water, Sara sat up in the cab and scanned her eyes, searching all over for him. She knew it was futile, but she couldn't help herself. Unconsciously, as she searched, she fingered the teardrop on her sternum. They were half-way down Shetland Island Drive when she thought she saw him. Craning her neck, she straightened in her seat, then whipped her head around as the taxi drove past to make sure.

"There!" she shouted suddenly, excitedly. "That's him. There!"

The driver looked toward where she was pointing and eased the cab to a stop a little further on before reversing and entering that part of the docks to park. She had her seatbelt off and the fare money ready, even before the taxi had come to a full stop.

"Keep the change," she said, handing the money over, and slipping her purse back into her messenger bag let herself out of the cab.

"Good luck on your expedition," the driver called, but Sara was already shutting the door and didn't hear him.

The breeze was stronger here, so close to the water. She stood for a moment, willed her racing heart to calm, then looked around uncertainly before turning toward where Grissom was. The sun was behind her, and after tucking some unruly hair behind her ear removed her sunglasses. She watched hesitantly as he moved about on his boat packing his gear away. Once again she felt unsure of whether she'd acted a little rashly volunteering with Oceanpeace, and wondered whether he'd find her presence on the expedition crowding and intrusive.

No more second-guessing, she told herself sternly, and as though reeled in started walking toward his boat, toward him. He was coiling a rope, wrapping it around his palm and elbow like an old pro. Once finished, he dropped the rope, then released the boat from one of its moorings and pulled in the plastic fenders protecting the boat from bumps and scuffs. Realising he was casting off, she quickened her pace, hurrying down the gangway to the wharf.

"Wait! Wait!" she called in the breeze. "Gil, wait for me."

Grissom paused suddenly, then looked up and turned toward her. She gave a hesitant smile, continued walking, while he stared, unmoving, disbelieving, before a slow shaky smile of realisation that she was truly there, that what he was seeing wasn't a figment of his imagination, spread over his features. All her fears and worries evaporated instantly. Her gaze locked to his she reached the boat, and his smile widening he held out his hand to her, helping her on board. His hands moved to her waist, at once strong and familiar, easing her over the side while hers moved to his shoulders. They never once broke eye contact. His lips pinched, and the barely contained emotion she saw in his eyes made hers fill with tears. He was overcome with happiness by her apparition, and she was by his reaction. They fell into each other's arms then, and clung fiercely to the other, never wanting to let go.

"Yes," she told him silently, "I'm here. I've picked you. I picked us. I chose our love over my work."

And still, they held each other tightly.

"I'm speechless," he said, his voice choked up, when finally they pulled apart. "Once again, you leave me speechless."

Sara's lips pulled into a wide smile. "I know all I need to know. And besides, someone once told me that words are overrated."

He laughed, then smiled tenderly as still he stared at her with disbelief and stroked her face. "Why didn't you say you were coming?"

"And spoil the surprise?"

He pinched his lips again and slowly closed the distance between them for a long and languorous kiss. "Thank you," he said earnestly, pulling back, and then opening his hand and showing her his humble abode, "So, what do you think?"

Cocking a brow, Sara looked around. "I hear she's fast, and reliable."

"Oh, she is." A proud smile danced on his lips as he opened his hand once again, introducing his boat. "Sara, meet Ishmael."

"Ishmael, huh?"

He shrugged. "I didn't name her."

Sara smiled, glanced around. "Any chance of a tour?"

Grissom's brow rose. "I can do better than that. How about a ride out to the point? I know this really good spot where we can drop anchor and watch the sun set."

Sara's face couldn't light up any more than it already was.

"Get the rope, while I start her up."

"All right," she said, eyeing the rope warily.

But Sara was a fast learner, and before long they were setting off into the setting sun. As they stood on the top deck with Grissom at the commands, Sara wrapped both arms around him and snuggled into his side. The wind was cool as it whipped her hair about her face, and repressing a shiver she tucked herself closer still. She couldn't think of anywhere else she'd rather be than there by his side and she knew she'd made the right decision dropping everything to spend the next three months with him.

"That's the naval base, there," Grissom said, drawing her out of her thoughts. Straining to hear him over the whistling of the wind and the waves crashing against the boat, she looked over to her right, to where he was pointing. "And that's New Point Loma lighthouse, over toward the end of the point."

Sara adjusted her gaze to the white light blinking in the distance, then smiled and nodded her head.

"The first lighthouse was built in 1855," he went on enthusiastically, and she refocused on him, "but it often got obscured by fog as it sits atop the 400 feet cliffs, so they built this one much lower down. We can go to it tomorrow, if you want. It's a long trek to it, but well worth it for the view."

He glanced at her then and smiled, and keeping her hair out of her eyes Sara nodded her head in reply. Was he changing his plans for his last day ashore to accommodate her visit, she wondered? And he still hadn't asked what she was doing there. Did he assume she'd simply come to see him off?

The light was quickly fading when they reached the end of the bay and rounded the tip of Point Loma Peninsula. The lighthouse was clearly visible now, its bright beam flashing reassuringly, and the view over the ridge was simply awe-inspiring. The Pacific stretched out in front of them, the setting sun reflected over its shimmering surface. The breeze was stronger there, the water choppier, and unsteady Sara reached out a hand to the railing.

"We got to be careful here," he said. "Especially at low tide. There are a lot of submerged rocks."

Slowing the boat right down, Grissom scanned all around them, then took a turn closer to the shore at the very tip of the point away from the main sea lane, before cutting the engine and moving swiftly down to the deck to drop anchor. The water there, on the edge of a cove, was calmer, the boat steadier, and feeling safe enough to let go of the railing Sara wrapped her arms around herself for warmth.

Too overwhelmed for words by what she was seeing, by what she was feeling, she could only watch him and smile. It felt like a dream, one she never wanted to wake up from. Glancing over his shoulder, he motioned excitedly for her to come down from the top deck, then moved quickly around and reached inside the cabin for a warm jacket.

"Put this on," he said, tossing the garment to her when she joined his side, "before you catch your death."

Giggling, Sara slipped the thick jacket on over her much lighter one and zipped it up. Grissom held out his hand and she took it, then holding on to the safety railing carefully followed him around to the bow. She was sure she'd find her sea legs at some point, but not quite yet. Letting go of her hand, Grissom sat down with his legs dangling over the side of the boat and reluctantly she followed suit. She had to trust he knew what he was doing, for both their sakes.

He draped his arm around her shoulders, cast his gaze out toward the ocean and stared with a soft, contented smile on his lips. She watched him watch the ocean for a long moment, watched the light of the setting sun dance in his darkened eyes, until she turned her head too and just like him became entranced. Vegas, and her life and work there, became a distant memory as she let the peace and tranquillity, the restorative powers of her surroundings, envelop her.

"So you've come to bid me goodbye?" he asked quietly after a while.

A giddy smile forming on her lips, she turned toward him and lifted her shoulders in a mild shrug. "I was missing you," she replied simply.

His face softened. "I was missing you too." His eyes clouded over, and he sighed. "How long have you got? We're leaving the day after tomorrow. At the crack of dawn."

"I know."

"So, that gives us, what? Thirty-six hours."

The resignation in his voice tugged at her heart. "Not quite," she said, stifling her smile.

He frowned. "Don't tell me you've got to head back before I leave…"

She covered his mouth with his hand and shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere."

"No?"

Slowly, she shook her head again. "Well, not without you anyway."

His puzzlement intensified.

She shrugged. "I'm…coming with you on the expedition. I'm the guy they were fast-tracking. The reason why you're not at sea already."

It took a moment for her words to sink in, but when they did he laughed. "You―you're coming on the trip?"

"I am. I mean, why should you be having all the fun, huh?" She sighed, looked at him beseechingly. "I couldn't let you go, Gil. Not so soon after…we'd only just reconnected."

Grissom could only stare at her, speechless. "Wow," he said after a moment. "Wow. That I was not expecting."

He gave her a soft smile. Then he tightened his hold around her shoulders lovingly and turning back toward the water laughed again.

"You don't know how much this means to me," he then said excitedly, emotionally, and she remembered telling Catherine the exact same words. She leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. "How often I've thought of this day―dreamed of this day."

He took in a deep breath he let out slowly, and Sara remained quiet, content to just be, content to let him process everything.

It was a long while before he spoke again. "It's going to complicate living arrangements aboard the ship, you know. I mean, you'll be in the women's quarter and I share a berth with five other men. My bunk's at the bottom and there is a curtain I can pull around it, but it won't be easy."

Sara opened her mouth to retort, but no sound came, and she chuckled in disbelief. "I'm sure we'll find a way. After all, we managed all right in that tent in Costa Rica."

"We did, didn't we?" he retorted, his eyes shining with mischief when he turned to face her.

They shared a long look and a tender smile and a truckload of happy memories. "So, you don't mind?" she asked afterwards. "My coming with you?"

"Not at all. In fact, as I recall, I'd asked you to come in the first place."

"And I said I couldn't."

"What changed your mind?"

"I want to give us a better chance to make it, you know? After you left, you, and us, was all I could think about and I realised that I needed to take that step in order to make that happen."

"And the lab?"

"The lab's fine. It'll be there when I get back, the job too. Catherine's at the helm and Yeager―from days?" She qualified when Grissom drew a blank on the name. "He's agreed to stay on. Well, he's asked for a transfer to Grave actually." Her expression clouded suddenly as she thought of Greg and the look of hurt on his face when she'd told him she was leaving.

"What is it?" he asked.

She sighed. "My coming here was hard on Greg. He―"

"―doesn't think I'm good enough for you," he finished for her with an uneasy chuckle.

She registered a look of surprise. "I don't think it's that."

"Oh, I do. When you left CSI to go to San Francisco to find your mother, he thought it was my fault you left, that I hadn't tried hard enough to make you stay."

Sara didn't hide her shock. "He said that to you?"

"Not in so many words. But it didn't take a genius to figure it out."

His turn of phrase made her smile, and idly she wondered if he was being literal in his description.

"He's always had a crush on you, Sara, you know that."

"At the start, maybe, but not anymore," she protested. "He's like a brother to me."

Grissom laughed. "Which is exactly why he feels that way about me."

Sara's eyes narrowed, and she fixed him with a puzzled look, at a loss for once as to how to make sense of his logic, but she could tell by the distant look on his face that his train of thought had moved on from Greg, and she didn't ask.

"I can't believe Ecklie agreed, though," he said. "What did you have to promise in return?"

"Nothing. I just didn't give him the choice, that's all. Once Catherine had agreed to step into my shoes, I was coming no matter what."

Grissom studied her at length before finally nodding his head. "Means a lot what you did," he said again, a little choked-up, "You giving it all up like that, for me―for us―when you'd only just been promoted."

Smiling softly, she reached up her hand to his face and stroked it, and then leaned in for a kiss. They stayed in each other's arms a while longer until his face lit up suddenly and he pointed his hand over to their right. Sara turned and watched as a silhouetted sail boat glided across the horizon a long way away. Its sails were full, the sea wind propelling the boat south toward the Mexican waters.

"I got something for you," she said, startling suddenly. "Stay here." She scooted back, then pushed to her feet and holding on to the railing headed to the cabin below deck. She grabbed her messenger bag, took it with her, and with his help took up her seat again. Slowly, she opened the bag and took out a large book she handed to him.

His brow rose. "Sailing for Dummies," he read, with a twist of his mouth. He studied the book cover, scanned the blurb at the back, then gave a hearty laugh and turned toward her. "You're calling me a dummy?"

"It seemed a good place to start," she replied, laughing too, "if you're serious about learning, of course."

His expression sobering, he opened the book and flicked through a few pages.

"It's just a little night-time reading," she said, in case he thought of starting right then.

His face lit up with mischief, and he turned toward her. "I can think of better things to do at night-time."

She laughed. "But not on the ship, huh?"

He pulled a face. "I'll sort something out." He tapped the tip of her nose and shook his head. He still couldn't believe that she was there by his side, and she couldn't blame him. She'd felt the same way when he'd turned up at her camp in the Corcovado reserve in Costa Rica all those years ago. They'd gotten married then, she thought suddenly, a wide smile tugging at her lips.

"You cold?" he asked when she repressed a shiver, and hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the bay. "You want to head back?"

"No, not yet." She turned back toward the setting sun which was now but a distorted red sliver disappearing into the ocean. Then she took the book back from him, returned it to her messenger bag and reached for his hand. She gave him a soft, tentative smile then, and by tacit agreement they stood up and silently made their way to the small cot in the cabin below deck.

And made love to the gentle rocking of the boat and the rhythmic bright flashes of the lighthouse watching over them.


End file.
